


Sleep to the Freezing

by ItIsTheSpaceJam (fallenkilljoy4)



Series: Anywhere But Here [1]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Connor's an Artist™, F/F, I guess ooc connor, In this house we love and appreciate Zoe Murphy, M/M, Not mentioned but Connor's autistic because I'm projecting, Zoe has mixed feelings about Connor, mentions of self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-07-05 20:11:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15870894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenkilljoy4/pseuds/ItIsTheSpaceJam
Summary: Connor used to lose his mind through other people's words, now he's writing his own.Zoe hadn't seen her brother in years, then a painting drags him back into her life.Evan never thought he'd amount to anything, but music makes him feel just a little bit better.





	1. A Vicks Flavored Slushie

Connor was pretty sure the pimple on his forehead was actually an abscess. It hurt way too much to just be a pimple. It hurt more than his knees, and his knees were currently screaming at him. He should've driven to the library earlier that afternoon, but instead he had walked, and now he was stuck walking back, and his knees felt like they were being bashed in with every step he took. 

At least he had his iPod. He could lose his mind through someone else's words, rather than his own, as he walked beside the highway. A part of him hoped a car would swerve and hit him. He pressed repeat. 

The Circle K was at the next light. If he could just make it that far, he could rest on the curb with a well deserved slushie. The cars rushing past seemed to get louder and louder the farther he trudged on. He turned up the volume and pressed repeat again.

_If you loved me_  
_Why’d you leave me?_  
_Take my body_  
_Take my body…_

A blast of cold air sent a chill up Connor's spine as he stepped into the convenience store. He hadn't realised how hot it was outside until he felt the bliss that was the air conditioning. The shiny linoleum floor felt oddly sticky beneath the soles of his boots as he made his way over to the slushie machine. 

He grabbed a large cup. Cola or cherry? Both? Both. He snapped the lid on and slid the straw in, taking a sip and relishing in the tangy sweet flavor that hurt his teeth. On the way out, he grabbed a bottle of NyQuil and a can of Monster, and paid. The girl at the register raised an eyebrow at the final additions to his purchase, but said nothing. It was only after Connor plopped himself down on the curb that he realised that might've been because he still had his earbuds in.

Maybe it was a bad idea, but he couldn't wait until he got home to get fucked up. His knees hurt too much to not be floating. He broke the seal on the NyQuil and poured way more than a dose into his slushie. Instant regret. Eating a jar of Vicks VapoRub would've tasted better than this. The only option he had now was to suck it all down before he could taste it, and that left him with a serious brain freeze.

Miraculously, Connor was able to stagger to the trash can to throw the empty cup away, before collapsing into the brick wall of the store. He really didn't think this through. He couldn't feel his knees anymore. He couldn't feel much of anything. But at the same time he could feel every muscle in his hands moving as he fluttered his fingers, wondering how the hell we was going to get home in this state. 

The answer to his question came in the form of none other than his knight in shining armor, Jared Kleinman.

Jared emerged from the Circle K with a bag hanging from his wrist, and an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. His other hand fished through the pocket of his cargo shorts for a lighter, but came up empty. Connor heard him curse under his breath as he approached.

“Hey, you got a light?” Jared asked, tossing a plastic wrapper into the trash beside Connor. Connor pulled his Mets lighter out of his pocket and handed it to Jared, their fingers brushing together.

“Thanks.” Jared lit his cigarette and took a drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. He tossed the lighter back, “You're brave carrying that thing around.”

Connor pulled out his own pack of Marlboros and shrugged. “Not my fault they suck.” He inhaled, letting the smoke burn his throat and lungs. “I didn't know you smoked.”

“Yeah, well, we all do things that disappoint our mothers.” 

For a while, the two stood there in silence, puffing away like a pair of twin chimneys. Connor hadn't seen Jared since graduation. He still wore those stupid graphic tees and shorts, but he looked different without that kid in the polo shadowing him. Jared seemed older somehow, like he went from annoying white kid to white dad in the month since school let out. Connor had never felt comfortable in Jared's presence before. Now that Jared had no reputation to keep up, it was like Connor wasn't a monster to him anymore. No jokes, no taunting, just two guys smoking outside of a Circle K at eight in the evening. And Connor didn't have energy, nor did he care enough to hate him anymore. 

At last, Jared tossed his cigarette butt to the pavement, crushing it beneath his shoe. His eyes narrowed and scanned Connor's.  
“Hey man, you don't look so good. Want me to give you a ride home?”

Connor shook his head and tried to take a step forward, to walk away without a word and prove that he was okay. Instead, he stumbled and wound up sprawled out on the pavement.

“Jesus Christ” Jared shook his head, taking Connor by the shoulder and helping him to his feet. Connor didn't protest when Jared began leading him to his car, he just moved his feet to the best of his ability and let it happen.

Jared's car smelled like Febreze, and way too much of it. It was cleaner than Connor's car. Connor's car was littered with old Dunkin Donuts cups and cigarette boxes. But Jared's car was clean, except for a sweatshirt tossed over the back seat.  
“You know where you're going?” Connor asked, the Circle K fading from view.

“Unless you moved since the fifth grade.” With one hand on the steering wheel, Jared handed Connor the AUX cord. 

Connor plugged his iPod in, not really caring what Jared thought of his music. If he was in Zoe’s car, he would try and put on a song that he thought she might like. But Jared wasn't Zoe, so Connor just let whatever was on play.

_All I want is_  
_All I need is_  
_To find somebody_  
_I'll find somebody…_

A month ago Jared would've probably called his music emo, or ‘school shooter chic’ or whatever. But now...now he didn't say anything. He just drove, eyes on the road, not even glancing Connor's way. The trees blurred into a wall of green as they drove past, slowing down only to turn onto Connor's street, then finally stopping in front of his house. 

Connor refused to let Jared help him inside, and Jared didn't persist. He did throw in his two cents, gesturing to the NyQuil bottle and saying, “Maybe don't take any more of that.” But then he drove off, and Connor was alone. 

Of course, Connor being Connor, he didn't heed Jared's advice, and as soon as he was locked away in his room, he cracked open the now warm can of Monster, mixed it with more NyQuil, and downed the whole thing in less than a minute. Fuck Jared. Who was Jared to tell Connor what to do? Jared hated him anyway. At least, Connor had thought Jared hated him. Now he wasn't so sure.

It was nine o'clock, and Connor swore he could hear himself blink. His heart skipped a beat, then another, and a part of him hoped it would just stop. But it didn't. He was sprawled out on his bed, the covers soft beneath him, as he stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling that were beginning to peel off after all these years. He'd been tempted to rip them down a hundred times, but he could never bring himself to do it. Maybe they would just fall off on their own. 

He was those stars, really, when he thought about it. Hundreds of times he'd been tempted to end it all and just be done. Too many times to count he'd thought about it. But he could never take the leap. Instead, he would hope some external force would kill him. Cancer from the cigarettes. Not looking both ways before crossing the street. An anvil falling from the sky. Quicksand.

The sudden urge to feel something washed over him like the tide. He leapt out of bed, the soles of his bare feet not feeling the floor. For a moment, he remained still, and listened. Silence. His parents weren't fighting. Wait, no, they had gone out, hadn't they? Some fancy dinner party with his dad's boss, right? Right, it was Tuesday? The silence also meant Zoe was asleep. If she'd been awake, she would be humming, or tapping, or watching TV, or making some kind of noise, so she must have gone to bed early.

Connor tiptoed to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. His hands shook as he peeled off the back of his phone case, letting a small, silver blade tumble out into his open palm. Bloodshot eyes stared back at him when he looked in the mirror. He was tired. But he needed to _feel_ something. So he pressed the blade right to his forehead, and a thought came to him.

_There is more than one way a person can die to us_

He couldn't remember where it was from. A book or movie probably. He didn't even know if that was actually what the quote was, but it was the final push he needed. All these years he'd been waiting for something to happen. But now, he would _make_ something happen. There was more than one way a person could die, and tonight he was going to find another way to kill himself.


	2. The Cake Is A Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe and Alana are band directors, and cake makes Zoe feel things.

Cake for breakfast was not something Zoe would have ever imagined herself hating. As a little kid she would nearly give her mother a heart attack begging to have cake for breakfast. And cake for breakfast was still _good_... just not today. 

Zoe dreaded this every year. Getting dressed and coming downstairs to the table, only to be met with a cake. A chocolate cake, with white buttercream and sprinkles. “Happy Birthday Connor” scrawled on top in blue glitter gel. And every year Zoe tore herself apart, wondering why her parents couldn't just _let go already._ What was the point of having a cake for someone who wasn't even there to eat it? 

They'd gotten it all wrong anyway. Connor hated chocolate cake, Zoe remembered that much. He liked vanilla cake with chocolate mousse in the middle and chocolate- no, _cream cheese_ frosting. And they got the candles wrong. There were twenty-nine but Connor was only twenty-eight… oh, right, one to grow on, she always forgot about that one. 

She wanted to have some, she really did, but she was going to be late for work. At least, that's what she told herself. She was going to be late for work, so she'll just stop by the coffee shop, and pick up a muffin for breakfast instead. That was the plan, and she stuck to it. She wouldn't be getting home until well past midnight, but she knew there'd be plenty of cake still left when she returned, if she still wanted it. And she _would_ still want it. She laughed at herself a bit, what a stupid girl she was, thinking eating cake would bring her brother back. 

Alana would be all over her when she got there, making sure she's okay, telling her to stop acting like he died. But the thing was, the thing Alana _didn't understand_ , was that Connor might as well be dead. If he came back now, after all these years, it would be like seeing a ghost. So, to Zoe at least, he was dead. But the other thing Alana didn't understand was why Zoe even cared. Zoe and Connor had hated each other since elementary school, and Zoe took every opportunity she could to remind anyone who would listen, how horribly Connor had treated her. So why _did_ she care? 

She sat in her car in silence for a moment trying to figure that out. Why did she care? She spent all of high school praying Connor would just disappear. Then he did. And now she regretted her prayers. The house was too quiet without him blasting his music and shouting at anything that moved. The nights were too long without him stumbling in drunk at one in the morning. The days were too grey without the rare moments when he was sober, and she was too tired to be mad, and he would just barely smile at her. Maybe if she just moved out already she wouldn't feel that way. No matter which way she tried to spin it, she felt like a total loser, being almost twenty-seven and still living with her parents.

She glanced at the clock on her dashboard. 9:35 am. She really was going to be late if she didn't get a move on. Hugging her hoodie closer to her body, she got out of the car and walked into the coffee shop.

The place was empty, except for George, the nice middle aged barista. At least Zoe wouldn't have to wait long, George knew her order by heart by now. Large cold brew, mocha and cream. He smiled warmly at her as she stepped inside.

“The usual?”

Zoe nodded, smiling back. “Yeah, and a blueberry muffin too, please.”

She stood at the counter, drumming her fingernails on the countertop. Not out of impatience, simply a habit, just to stimulate her senses. The smell of coffee, while pleasant, could become overwhelming, and tapping helped her take her mind off it. Something was different about the place today, and she couldn't quite place it. That was, until she glanced to her left, and saw a painting hanging on the wall that hadn't been there last time. Amongst all the other paintings in here she almost didn't notice it.

A fairly large oil painting of a little girl, sitting at a piano, turned away so only the back of her was visible. A blue streak in the girls hair made her cringe internally. Zoe had put indigo streaks in her hair her sophomore year of high school, and she really hated being reminded of the worst cosmetic decision of her life.

“You like it?” George asked, sliding her order across the counter. “Got it down at the flea market on Sunday. This guy, Edgar Duchannes, was selling some of his paintings out of the back of his truck, real cheap.”

“He's really talented,” Zoe nodded, swiping her debit card. She was about to grab her coffee and leave, but instead took out her phone and opened the notes app. “What'd you say his name was?”

“Edgar Duchannes. D-u-c-h-a-n-n-e-s.”

Zoe quickly typed the name out, making a mental note to look him up later. Maybe he had an Instagram she could follow, or an Etsy shop. Then, she grabbed her coffee in one hand and her muffin in the other, thanking George before walking back to her car.

She arrived at the school just barely on time. The back of the band room, where the pit instruments should be was empty. They must've already brought them out to the field. She could hear the drumline starting to warm up across the hall in the chorus room. The wind line was already in an arch doing breathing exercises as she gripped her backpack tighter, beginning to cross the room to Alana’s office.

A choir of “Hi Miss Murphy” and a sea of waving hands stopped her at the piano.

Zoe raised a hand to wave back. “Keep doing what you're doing,” she nodded to the Drum Major, a senior named Spencer. She stayed there leaning against the piano as they continued their breathing exercises.

This piano still didn't look right to her, like it just didn't _fit_. It looked so foreign outside of her family room. The old piano had been on its last legs, and when it finally kicked the bucket, the school couldn't afford to replace it. So, with her parent's permission of course, she donated their piano. Not like anyone played it anymore anyway. Technically, her and Connor shared the piano. It was a Christmas gift to both of them when they started taking lessons. But then Zoe got her own keyboard so she could practice in her room, and she never used the piano. Over the years, Connor played less and less, but in Zoe's mind it would always be _his_ piano.

She remembered in the year before he left, he played more than ever. Never in front of anyone, only when their parents were out, and he thought Zoe was in her room, not listening. She wondered if Connor ever knew that she snuck downstairs to hear him play. She would close her eyes and listen as Canon in D faded into Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. The only time she could remember _not_ listening was when he would play Für Elise in ragtime like an asshat. Sometimes, she would dare peek her head into the room to watch her brother's fingers fly across the keys. It was moments like those that she thought maybe everything would be okay. That _Connor_ would be okay.

Then he left. And no one played the piano anymore. So, why keep it?

When the kids started picking up their instruments, Zoe finally moved, not wanted to get her eardrums blown out by their warm ups.

“Take these seriously, guys, blow air and play like you mean it,” she warned, stepping away toward Alana’s office, “Don't make me come back out here.”

Alana was sitting in her office chair, updating the band’s Facebook page on the ancient computer that sat atop her desk. When she heard Zoe step in, she spun her chair around to face her, and took a sip of orange juice from the bottle on her desk. Zoe tossed the wrapper from her muffin into the trash bin beside the desk, sat down in one of the plastic chairs opposite to Alana, and dropped her backpack at her feet.

“How are you?” Alana asked, her face doing nothing to hide her concern for her girlfriend. Fiancée. She was her fiancée now, Zoe reminded herself, absentmindedly fiddling with the ring on her finger. She was still getting used to that.

Zoe had hoped Alana had forgotten what today was, but of course she hadn't, Alana doesn't forget anything, but Zoe really didn't want to talk about it.

“Well, I'm thinking about getting my nipples pierced”

Alana nearly spat her orange juice all over the desk. She really should expect Zoe's sense of humor by now. Zoe doubled over in her chair, laughing at Alana’s stunned reaction. Eyes wide, Alana regained her composure as best as she could, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, at a loss for words.

“...I would not be opposed” she responded, reaching over the desk to take Zoe’s hand, “But you know that's not what I meant”

Zoe's laughter finally died down, and she sighed. “I know, I just… It's whatever, you know?”

“Clearly it's not whatever if you're this upset about it”

“I'm not upset,” Zoe snapped, a little too quickly.

Alana gave her a sad smile, running her thumb over Zoe’s knuckles. “I know when my girl's upset-”

Zoe pulled her hand away, covering her face and sinking down into her chair. “I'm _not_ upset I just… I wish my parents would just _get over it_. I mean, it's been ten years. He's not coming back, and I feel like I'm the only one who's actually come to terms with that.”

Her hands dropped into her lap, and the wind line’s warm ups died out, giving way to the rustling of bags and the chatter of voices making their way out to the field. She pushed herself up out of her seat. “We should start heading out”

“We have time,” Alana stood, reaching for Zoe's arm, “They still have to stretch. Sit back down, let's talk about this.”

Zoe shook her head, ignoring her, and grabbed her backpack on her way out. Alana picked her drill binder and keys up off her desk, and followed. Zoe let her walk by her side all the way through the hall, and across the parking lot to the field. The color guard had been out there for an hour already, practicing their work and drill, but the band was just starting to run their lap as Alana reluctantly parted from her fiancée to climb the bleachers and unlock the pressbox.

Zoe meandered over to the pit, who were practicing the closer, trying to work out the tempo change at measure 58. Zoe nodded a silent hello to the pit tech, Ashley, who was striking a gok block. Ashley nodded back, then turned back to the pit as her rhythmic striking suddenly slowed, and so did the pit’s playing.

Zoe clapped when the gok block ceased. “Yes! Play it like that _every time_!” A few kids looked up from their instruments to smile at her, and she smiled back. The other kids were starting to finish their lap, so Zoe gave Ashley a pat on the shoulder, and went over to the benches where the juniors were chugging water like it was going out of style.

“Drink water!” She shouted, to try and ensure that the freshman who thought they were ‘too cool’ for water didn't collapse from dehydration later in the day. She really didn't want a repeat of last year, nor did she want to fill out the paperwork that came with calling an ambulance.

Spencer glanced up from his phone, and giggled when he saw Zoe's hoodie.

“You like my little alteration?” She smiled, straightening out the fabric to make it more visible. It _used_ to say ‘Assistant Band Director’, but she'd covered the ‘Assistant’ part up with a piece of electrical tape she'd written on, so it now read ‘Co-Band Director’.

It was a sort of inside joke with the band. Zoe would be down on the field responding to one of the kid's comments with “Well, as your Assistant Director-” and then Alana would get on the microphone up in the pressbox, “Co-Director!” insisting that they were equals.

A few other kids lifted their heads to see the hoodie and laughed along. Then, after allowing them to take a few more sips of water, she cupped her hands around her mouth, “Grab your instruments and let's get out on the field for basics!”

The band lethargically dragged their bodies around the guard and to the other side of the field. From in the pressbox, Alana got on the microphone, “Hey band… It's a show day!” earning a chorus of cheers from the band and guard, and giving them a short burst of enthusiasm.

After a short posture exercise, Zoe called them to attention. “In today's competition, we're gonna be competing against five other bands, one of which is Colbridge.” She heard a few groans from the back of the basics block, “Excuse me, you are at set!” She snapped, effectively silencing the peanut gallery. “I want you to listen, and listen good. I know you're all still bitter about Nationals last year, and I am too, trust me. But, if Miss Beck and I hear tonight that you gave _any_ of the kids from Colbridge trouble, we're taking away your third quarter break next Friday.”

Really, Zoe wanted nothing more than to just _set them off_ on the Colbridge kids, but she was supposed to be the adult here, and she had to set a good example. It was time to put the past behind them. Who cared that Colbridge beat them at Nationals when they didn't even have a marching battery? Zoe didn't care. She totally didn't care. If she ever saw Colbridge’s director she was going to strangle him with her own bare hands because _her_ kids deserved that trophy goddammit, but she didn't care.

“Now,” she flicked her wrist and sent the drumstick she'd been holding right into the ground, sticking straight up, embedded in the grass, “Pick up your instruments, we're gonna jump right into the Figure 8.”

She made her way over to the hash where Daniel was standing on the end of the front line and took one step out from it, and one step in front of the yard line, placing her iced coffee down on the field where she stood. Then, she went over to pluck her drumstick from the ground, and grabbed her gok block out of her backpack.

“I want you all to take a look at my coffee,” the kids turned their heads to where she pointed with the drumstick, “I love my coffee more than I will _ever_ love any of _you_ , so if you spill it, I will get permission from your mother to smack you. Now, the wonderful thing is, it's one off the hash, and one off the yard line! So, if you stay in your lines, and guide to the people in front of you, you shouldn't even come close to it.”

She struck the gok block, calling them to set. Before counting them off though, she gestured to the front line with the drumstick, “Front line,” she shrugged, “Don't be wrong.” That earned a few giggles. “Alright! Figure 8! Do it good the first time, and I won't make you do it again!”

* * *

Despite the early October chill outside, it was hot as hell on the bus. So hot, in fact, that Zoe shrugged off her hoodie, setting it beside her in the two seater where she sat in the very front of the bus. The three seater next to her had been claimed by Alana, who sat in front of the shako seat, piled high with hat boxes threatening to spill out into the aisle if the bus was to take a sharp turn. Next to the shako seat, and behind Zoe, was Spencer, guarding the plume bag with his life.

The kids were quiet. Too quiet. If Zoe wasn't so tired, she would be highly suspicious. Especially since the drumline was also on this bus, and being quiet was not something they were known for.

“You know, I was thinking,” Spencer peeked his head out over the seat, “It's gonna be really confusing when you're _both_ Mrs. Beck”

Zoe nearly choked on her (now very watered down) coffee. “How do you know about that?” She whispered, “We haven't told anyone yet. My _parents_ don't even know yet.”

“It wasn't that hard to figure out, I mean, that rock _is_ the size of Mount Rushmore” he gestured to the diamond.

“Bold of you to assume she's taking my name” Alana tossed in, glancing up from her phone.

Zoe rolled her eyes, “ _Of course_ I'm taking your name”

Suddenly, despite the bus being in motion, Alana jumped to her feet, pulling up the camera on her phone. “This is for the Facebook, everyone say cheese!”

Needless to say, no one said ‘cheese’. In true marching band fashion, the words shouted ranged all the way from ‘mozzarella’ to ‘tiddies’.

After snapping the picture, Alana tucked her phone back in her pocket, just as the bus came to a stop in front of Colbridge High. “Alright everyone, suit up and get in two lines on the sidewalk!”

“Are we wearing gloves?” a freshman, Kirsty, asked.

“Bring them with you, but don't put them on yet. You still have to get stamped and we don't want your white gloves turning whatever weird color they have this time.”

Zoe started to follow Alana off of the bus, but then turned around for one last announcement. “Also! Not naming names, but don't forget your gauntlets, _Daniel_.”

* * *

A brief warm up was all it took to get the band hyped. They played through the closer a few times, ensuring the tempo change was burned into their skulls, and they were ready to go. Alana called a huddle, and the kids gathered around.

“You've all been working so hard, and we're all really proud of you, guys” She smiled, “We have a month left until Nationals, and if you keep putting in the amount of effort that you have so far, I have no doubt we're gonna kick Colbridge’s butts this year. We all love you so much, and now we want you to go out there, and show them what you've got. Hands in!” Each and every one of the teens scrambled over one another to stack their hands together in the middle of the circle. “Panthers on three! One! Two! Three!”

“Panthers!” The band threw their hands in the air, sharing a moment of pre-performance buzz before getting into their show lines and marching onto the field.

As they played their show, Zoe smiled so wide she thought her face might split open. She really did love those kids, and they were making what should've been a shitty day so much better. Who needed Connor when she had a big, loving, band family?

* * *

Bringing home a first place trophy wasn't an uncommon occurrence for the Panthers, but it was still exciting every time. Zoe was so damn proud of these kids and all their hard work, and she knew Alana was too. The bus was even quieter now than it was earlier. Now, it was almost midnight, and most of them were trying to nap on the way home. There was no other feeling in the world like being on the band bus at night.

Zoe and Alana shared a smile, and Zoe couldn't help but think she had the best girlfriend in the world. _Fiancée_. As quietly and inconspicuously as she could, Zoe hopped from her seat to Alana's. She rested her head on Alana's shoulder, and suddenly, they were in high school again, coming home from their own competition. Way back, before they knew what they wanted to do with their lives. Before college shoved them into the real world. Back when they were ‘just friends’.

For the first time in forever, Zoe helped unload the truck when they got back to the school. She helped wheel the marimba back to its home in the back of the band room, then helped get the props into their nook by the guard closet. She even got a Mountain Dew Voltage and a honey bun from the vending machine, just like she used too.

She kissed Alana goodbye after the last of the kids had filtered out, exchanging ‘I love you’s and reluctantly parting to get into their separate cars. The whole way home, Zoe felt so bittersweetly nostalgic. She got home, half expecting to find Connor awake, making coffee even though it was almost one o'clock. He would be slightly buzzed, and Zoe would be too tired to hate him, and they would just silently exist together, like they used to. But then Zoe opened her front door and was hit with the cold reality that came in the form of a cake. A cake that Connor would've hated. A cake that was now sliced up in tupperware containers in the fridge.

The cake that Zoe was eating in her kitchen, in the dark, at one o'clock in the morning, pretending she was still seventeen, and her big brother was just asleep upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a good 2,000 words longer than the last one. This is the first time I've ever written from Zoe's point of view, but I'm really enjoying it! As for the destinct lack of Evan, don't worry, he'll be in the next chapter for sure.


	3. Danse Macabre Fucking Slaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan discovers his new favorite singer.

Typically, you can look at a person and kind of get an idea as to what kind of music they like. For example, Evan's mom looked like she listened to classic rock and Disney, and that's _exactly_ what she listened to. But when people looked at Evan, they kind of got the vibe that he didn't really _listen_ to music, and that wasn't true at all. Evan liked all sorts of music. He liked shitty 80’s hair metal and Childish Gambino just as much as the next guy. 

In middle school, Jared used to make fun of him for listening to classical music, and Evan used to care. But, he was a grown man now, and if Jared was too uncultured to realise that Danse Macabre is a total banger, that was his problem. What did Jared know? He couldn't even tell the difference between the 1812 Overture and Night on Bald Mountain. 

It didn't really matter anymore. Evan hadn't even talked to Jared since college. He kept meaning to. He still had his number saved in his phone, and every so often he'd get the urge to say ‘Hey, what's up?’ but he could never bring himself to actually do it. 

The only reason he had hung out with Jared in the first place was because their moms were friends. When they were little, Jared had practically been his brother. But then middle school came along, and Jared started to actually care what other people thought of him. Frankly, Evan thought he turned into a real asshole over the span of those three years. But he still hung out with him because...well, Jared was the only person who would even kind of give him the time of day. 

Evan kind of understood why Jared was the way he was back then. He wanted people to like him, so he did whatever would get him attention. The thing Evan thought was funny was that after graduation, Jared had done a complete one-eighty. He went from making school shooter jokes about Connor Murphy to helping little old ladies cross the street. Just a few weeks ago Evan heard from Mrs. Kleinman that Jared was a Preschool teacher now. The guy who used to stick french fries up his nose just to get a laugh was a _Preschool teacher_. Well, Evan was happy he found a career that he enjoyed, and he's glad Jared got himself in check, but if he never saw Jared again, that would be just fine. Not to mention, he would never trust Jared to not accidentally kill a child in the span of a four hour school day. Preschool was only four hours, right? Evan didn't know, he didn't go to Preschool. 

Of course, now that Jared was in another state teaching kids their ABCs, Evan was down to exactly one friend. Back in high school, if he had said his mom was his best friend, people would probably take that to mean she let him smoke pot in the house, or let him have wine with dinner, or something. They would've thought she was a bad mom. But now, nearing the middle part of his life, Evan could genuinely say his mom was his best friend. 

Evan kind of felt weird when he realized that he was older than his mom was when she had him and yet, at twenty-eight he had no children, no significant other, not even his own house. He felt kind of pathetic. He'd never even dated anyone in his life. Well, that wasn't _exactly_ true. He'd had a brief fling with Zoe Murphy a few months before he left for college, but he'd ended it because, even though she was eighteen, she was still in high school, and he felt weird about that, like he was taking advantage of her. He hadn't even seen her since he swung by her house to say goodbye the morning he left. She'd started dating Alana Beck by then. 

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Evan was lonely. He was just a socially awkward librarian that still lived with his mom. But _music_. Music made him feel a little bit better.

* * *

Sharon had called in sick that day, which meant Evan had to close, which meant his mom had already put his dinner in the fridge and gone to bed by the time he stumbled in at a quarter to 10. By then, he was too tired to eat, so he just kicked off his shoes and collapsed into bed, not even bothering to change out of his clothes. At least he had the next day, Sunday, off. He could sleep in. 

It was times like this when Evan was so tired he wished he could fall asleep in silence. But alas, he couldn't, and he haphazardly shoved his earbuds in his ears, putting a random Spotify radio on shuffle. 

He could feel himself dozing off, teetering on the edge of lucidity when he heard it. The Lumineers faded out and a song he didn't know started playing. 

_I'm in the habit of waking up at one_   
_In the morning wondering if you_   
_Think about me still_   
_And I've wanted to call you to say I'm sorry_   
_To apologize for everything I've done_

Suddenly, Evan was wide awake. Sometimes music would do that to you, even if it was the saddest lullaby you've ever heard, like Evan thought this song was. He clicked his phone on, squinting as his face was illuminated by an album cover. An oil-painted night sky, nothing particularly spectacular. Evan tapped the little plus sign, adding it to his saved songs. Then, he tapped ‘go to artist’.

Edgar Duchannes. The profile picture wasn't of him, but of the same starry album cover, which wasn't unusual since he seemed to be a smaller artist. That album, _Everyone I Know_ , was the only one listed. Evan tapped on it, and played it from the beginning, closing his eyes and letting himself become lost in the lyrics. The album was on the shorter side, and only half an hour later the song he'd been listening to before, the last one on the album, _All These Years_ , was playing again. When it was over, he saved the album, pressed repeat, and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Sunday was Target Day. Shopping Day. Evan and His Mom Spend Quality Time Together Day. 

Evan hated shopping. Something about the bright lights and sheer vastness of stores just triggered his anxiety. That's why he was glad to have his mom with him, that way he wouldn't be alone in the sea of white linoleum and overwhelming smell of popcorn that lingered throughout the place. Normally at stores, Evan stayed glued to his mom's side. But today he decided that he was a man on a mission. 

“I'm gonna go look at the CDs, okay?” He said, while his mom was deciding which kind of hummus to buy.

“Do you want me to go with you?” She asked, concern evident on her face.

Evan shook his head, “I’ll be fine,” he stepped away, waving her off, “I'll meet you back at the car.”

But Evan was not fine. While his mom put the tub of hummus in the cart, Evan speed walked to where the CDs were, by the books, not even daring to look in any direction other than right in front of him in fear of… well, he didn't know exactly what, but something bad would happen. Anxiety: 10 out of 10, would recommend. 

The CD rack was… not impressive. He didn't even know if _Everyone I Know_ was _on_ CD. Oh god, it was probably only available digitally, and now he was standing here in the middle of Target like an idiot, and he'd have to walk out of the store empty handed. What if they thought he stole something? He would have to by _something_ , but there was nothing else that he needed, and he didn't want to buy something he didn't want. 

Then, as if x-ray vision had kicked in, he spotted a starry album cover at the end of the aisle. He made his way over, stopping right in front of it, reaching out almost touching it, about to grab it and go-

“Evan? Evan Hansen?”

Evan retracted his hand as if he'd been burned, and looked around frantically, searching for the voice. When he locked eyes with the person who'd called his name, his first thought was, _’who the hell is that?’_. His second thought, immediately after, was _’holy shit’._ Standing there before him was a tall, lanky man with long, purple hair. Evan never would've believed it, if he hadn't seen it for himself.

“Connor? I- I didn't recognize you,” he hardly even looked like _Connor_ anymore, “It's uh, it's been a while.” 

Nobody had seen Connor Murphy since high school. He pretty much dropped off the face of the earth after graduation. Rumors had gone around that he was in prison, or rehab, or dead. There was a time when Evan had seriously considered the possibility of all three, but here he was, alive and well, looking better than he ever had, in the middle of _Target_. 

Connor shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. He was wearing one of those Boy George, _Karma Chameleon_ looking hats, and he adjusted it on his head, pushing the brim back to show more of his face, revealing a scar that stretched from his hairline to his chin. Evan was pretty sure he'd never seen Connor wear a hat before. He was also pretty sure Connor didn't have that scar before either. 

“So, you like Duchannes?” Connor asked, pointing to the CD case that Evan was no longer reaching for. 

Evan couldn't even open his mouth to speak, still taking in the sheer sight that was the new and improved Hipster Witch Connor Murphy. He didn't look _bad_. The chiffon cardigan was definitely a step up from the ratty old hoodie he had lived in in high school. It was just that he looked, well… kind of ridiculous. 

Realizing he still hadn't responded, Evan nodded, “Uh, yeah he- he’s alright” 

“That's what I'm here for too,” Connor reached over, plucking a copy of the CD from the shelf, “Zoe's birthday’s coming up and I think she'll like it.” 

Oh yeah, Zoe's birthday was on the 20th, thirteen days from now. Evan had forgotten… How old would she be now? Twenty-six? Going on twenty-seven?

“Kind of early isn't it?”

“I wanted to send it as soon as possible. She doesn't know I'm back yet,” Connor bit his lip and his gaze darted toward the ground, “I wanna surprise her but, I kinda wanna ease her into it, you know? I don't wanna just show up.” 

The two were silent for a moment, avoiding looking each other in the eye. Suddenly, Evan found his shoes particularly interesting. 

“Do you still talk to her?” Connor asked suddenly, “Does she ever... talk about me?” 

Nineteen-year-old Evan was thinking something along the lines of, ‘I'm pretty sure you were the last thing on her mind while I was banging her’, but twenty-eight-year-old anxious in Target Evan mentally slapped himself for letting such a comment even cross his mind. What the hell was wrong with him? Was he _trying_ to get the shit kicked out of him? And who the hell even said ‘banging’ anymore, aside from, like, the college surfer douchebags on TV?

“Uh” Evan could feel his ears turning red as he tried his best not to stutter, “No I, uh, I haven't talked to her in a long time.” 

“Oh”

The awkward silence returned, Connor shifting his weight again, fiddling with the CD. He sighed.

“Well uh, I better get going. Maybe I'll see you around?”

Evan gave a small wave, and an even smaller smile, “See ya”

* * *

Evan stood there amongst the CDs long after Connor had gone, trying to wrap his mind around what had just taken place. Still in a daze, he used the self check-out to purchase the CD, and found his way back to the car, where his mom had been waiting for god knows how long. Oh god, he'd probably worried her sick. 

“You were in there awhile. Is everything alright, did something happen?” She questioned as he slid into the passenger seat and fastened his seatbelt.

“Yeah, I just,” he paused to clear his throat, “I ran into somebody and we got talking, that's all.”

Pulling out of the parking lot, his mom raised an eyebrow at him with a sly smile, “Was it a girl?”

“No!” He snapped, a little too quickly.

“A _boy_?”

Evan huffed. He really didn't want to talk about it. He just wanted to wallow in his own weird confused nostalgic feelings all by his lonesome. “ _Yes_ , mom, it was a boy.”

“Was he cute? Did you get his number?” 

“No, mom, I didn't get his-” he sighed, scrunching his eyes closed. He loved his mother, he really did, but sometimes he wished she didn't pry so much. “It was Connor Murphy.”

Heidi nearly slammed on the brakes right then and there. Eyes wide, she whispered in disbelief, “Cynthia’s boy?” 

“You can't tell anyone!” Evan blurted out, more than slightly panicked, “Nobody knows he's back yet, he wants to surprise Zoe for her birthday, I wasn't supposed to tell anybody!”

“Okay. Okay calm down.” Heidi glanced over worriedly, “It's okay, sweetie. I won't tell.” With one hand on the wheel, she extended the other to her son, pinky up. In the Hansen household, a pinky swear is law. 

Evan locked pinkies with her, sealing the deal, before crossing his arms over his chest and resting his forehead against the window. It was beginning to rain. 

“And yeah,” he muttered, “he's cute”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor's back! I'm not really sure how I feel about this chapter tbh. I wanted to get it up quickly because with school starting up I don't know when I'll be able to update again. I tried to base Evan's character off of my own experience with anxiety and impulsive thoughts and the like so i hope he doesn't seem too out of character.


	4. Band Kids Being Band Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe gets a package and Spencer talks to a boy.

Whoever said adults don't take naps is a damn liar, Zoe thought as she got out of her car. Days like this made her wish she worked at the high school with Alana full time, instead of just for marching band, because teaching middle schoolers was awful. Most of the middle school brats were only in band because they thought it was an easy A, and upon finding out it wasn't, and that they had to do actual work, they made it their life goal to drive Zoe up the wall. 

That particular day, a sixth grader drank an entire bottle of valve oil and had to be sent to the nurse, two eighth graders just plain refused to play, and one of the seventh graders hid a girl's flute somewhere in the mess they called a band room and wouldn't tell anyone where he hid it and by the end of the day the girl was crying and they still hadn't found the flute.  
Zoe really wanted to just rip her eyeballs out of her sockets and shriek into the void. Just _one_ well behaved student, that's _all_ she asked for. But she would settle for a nap instead.

A package had been left on the doorstep and, after a quick glance proved it was addressed to her, she snatched it up, tossing it on her nightstand the second she stepped into her room. She'd open it later. Before the football game if she woke up in enough time, after if she didn't.

Needless to say, after the day she'd had, she didn't.

* * *

Full disclosure, the Panthers preferred away games. Always had, always will. It dated all the way back to Zoe and Alana's time as Panthers and even before that. You didn't know anyone at away games, and no one knew you. They had new cool things at the snack stand that your school didn't have, sometimes there were even ice cream trucks. The bus rides were cherished, the longer the better. Away games were superior to home games.

Of course, the bus ride being sacred did not mean that it was quiet. Currently, Zoe's head was in her hands as she wondered why on earth her Drum Major was leading the band in a rendition of VeggieTales’ greatest hits.

“This is a song about a boy! This is a song about a little boy and his cebus! This is a song about a little boy and his three cebus! The little boy who had a sick cebu, a sad cebu, and a mute cebu! And also a hippo!”

Zoe had to admit, it was kind of impressive that Spencer was able to get the whole bus to participate in a call and response. But, that didn't change the fact that he was an eighteen year old toddler. At least Alana was getting a kick out of it, even filming it for the Facebook. 

Zoe also wondered how Daniel and Hackett even knew VeggieTales. Had it become some kind of meme she wasn't aware of? Zoe herself knew it solely because her cousin Lily went to a catholic school, where they watched it for indoor recess, but Daniel was Jewish, and Zoe was pretty sure Hackett was some form of Pagan. Come to think of it, she's pretty sure most of these kids are atheists, but then, they _were_ singing about cebus, so she supposed religion didn't really come into play there. 

Thankfully, the universe was on Zoe's side, and they came to a stop before Spencer could break into The Water Buffalo Song. In fact, the universe must have been on the side of the entire band, because the school they were at had remembered to tape off a section of the away bleachers for them. Most schools forgot to do that, and it was a mess trying to get people to move so the band could all sit together. 

The kids getting situated was also a mess. 

“Move, John, I have to sit by Vicky”

“The hell are you talking about? I _always_ sit here, dumbass”

“Saxes sit _in front_ of the brass”

“Guys make room for the guard!”

Zoe loved her kids, she really did, but no matter how many times they did this, it always took forever. 

Alana cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Just put your stuff down and arch it up for warm ups!”

“Do we need our instruments?” Kirsty asked, waving her flute in the air, nearly taking Hackett’s eye out and earning a collective, ‘what do _you_ think?” from her peers. 

“Yes, Kirsty,” Alana sighed, “You need your instrument for warm ups”

* * *

The Panthers weren't really used to people shutting up and paying attention to their show. Their own school was made up of a bunch of assholes with no respect for marching band. But this school, Merton High, actually stood when they played, and cheered when they were done, even though it was only the pregame show. Merton’s marching band, The Warriors, even sent their Drum Majors over with cookies after the show, and invited them to hang during third quarter. Zoe was...kind of surprised. In her experience, bigger bands tended to be bigger assholes, but the Warriors were actually really nice. 

As per usual, the second they were back in the stands, they stripped off their shakos and jackets, stuffing their gloves and gauntlets into their hat boxes and unzipping their bibbers, letting the straps dangle at their sides. Alana and Zoe had both learned that it was best to just let them, they were hot, and sweaty, and tired, and there was no use arguing.

There came a point during second quarter, after playing The Hey Song for the hundredth time, when a screaming match erupted amongst the low brass. 

“Guys! Guys, what's the problem?” Alana shouted up to them.

Suddenly, they all went silent. Daniel especially was looking like a deer in the headlights. 

Alana patted Zoe on the shoulder, “Let me see what this is about,” and began climbing the bleachers. When she approached, the baritones scrambled back to their seats, leaving only Daniel and his tuba, which was suspiciously missing a mouthpiece. 

“Dan, you're not in trouble,” Alana assured him, her voice soft and comforting, “Can you please just tell me what happened?”

Daniel looked at the ground, then at Alana, then back at the ground. He said nothing.

“Did your mouthpiece fall through the bleachers?” 

Daniel nodded slowly, still silent.

“Hey, it's okay!” Alana smiled, “It happens to the best of us.” Then, she yelled down to Zoe, “Hey, Zo? His mouthpiece fell, can you grab it?”

Zoe gave her a thumbs up before turning to Spencer, “While I'm gone, you're in charge”

“You'll be gone for, like, two seconds”

And Spencer was right. Zoe found the mouthpiece fairly quickly, and when she returned, Alana was sitting next to Daniel, who was sipping water from a paper cup.

* * *

At half time, the Panthers put their uniforms back on and made their way over to stand in the Warrior’s bleachers, out of respect and all that. The Warriors had about thirty more members than the Panthers did, so they were able to pull off some more intricate drill work. Musically they were amazing, and visually, they blew Zoe away. 

During their third quarter break, Spencer was trusted with the task of leading the Panthers back to the away stands to take their jackets off, while Zoe and Alana stayed behind to chat with the Warriors’ director, a Mr. Lewis Harvey. Zoe had honestly been expecting him to be a pretentious dickhead, but he was actually a very nice man that seemed to really care about his band and their futures.

Soon, Spencer returned with the now jacketless band, and the Panthers and the Warriors had what Zoe would describe as a five second party. The Warriors had been kind enough to provide them with free snacks and drinks. Great, Zoe thought, just what these kids need, more sugar. But she and Alana, along with Mr. Harvey, were glad that they were getting along and making friends. 

Zoe couldn't help but notice that Spencer had been talking to that vaguely River Phoenix looking kid for a _while_.

* * *

“Dennis, can you please tell your illegal stories a little quieter?” Alana half demanded, half begged that night on the bus. It was late and everyone was tired. Alana and Zoe were practically falling asleep on each other. Zoe thought she could really use a coffee. 

Coffee.

 _The painting from the coffee shop._ She meant to look up that guy. The week had been so hectic she’d forgotten. 

She pulled up the notes app on her phone, copying the name, Edgar Duchannes, and pasting it into Google. No Wikipedia page, no Etsy shop, it seemed all this guy had was an Instagram page. Edgar_Duchannes. Simple and to the point. 

The most recent post was from a few months ago, something about him releasing an album. Zoe thought that was kind of cool. She scrolled back through his page for a while, it was mostly just his paintings and the occasional pair of wacky socks. About a year back she found a post where he announced he had released a book of poetry. She clicked the link in the caption and was brought to an Amazon page. 

_Maybe I Should Switch To Heroin_ by Edgar Duchannes

Zoe read through the reviews. There weren't many, but a majority were four or five stars. Her birthday was coming up soon, and she did like poetry, so she sent the link to Alana, hoping she'd take the hint.

* * *

Zoe woke up earlier than usual. She didn't have to leave for a few more hours. It was Saturday, competition day. 

She vaguely remembered not opening that package the night before. Still half asleep, she ripped it open, pulling out the contents and tossing the bubble wrapped manilla envelope to the floor. She stared at what was in her hands for a moment before realizing it was a CD.

Wait a minute. She hadn't been expecting a package. Had she? She didn't order anything.

It was Edgar Duchannes’ album. _Everyone I Know._

Zoe admired the cover, vaguely reminiscent of Van Gogh’s _Starry Night_ , before opening the case. The actual CD was printed with flowery vines crisscrossing all over it. Then she noticed the blue sticky note on the inside cover of the case.

 _Heard this, thought you might like it. —Connor_

Zoe's heart stopped. 

It couldn't be. 

Her head spun, and her eyes brimmed with tears. All of a sudden she felt as if she was sitting on a water bed, trying to keep her balance. 

_It couldn't be._

But the handwriting… it was the same sloppy cursive he'd always written in. The same dark blue ink he'd always used. The ‘I’s were even dotted with little ‘X’s. She knew this handwriting. _His_ handwriting.

Zoe jumped out of bed, scrambling for the packaging, looking for a return address, some indication of where he was. 

How had she not noticed that her name was the only thing scribbled on the package? There was no return address label. No stamp. Nothing that gave any indication that this package had gone through the postal service at all. Just her name.

He must've just dropped it on the doorstep, she thought. He's been here…. He'd _been_ here.

 _He was here._

She should tell her parents. Her dad was at work already, but her mom was just downstairs. She should go down there and tell her.

But she didn't.

She couldn't explain it, she just… she needed to keep this for herself. Connor sent the CD to _her_. Not Larry. Not Cynthia. _Her._

Zoe plugged her headphones into her CD player, inserting the disk and pressing play. 

She knew why Connor thought she would like it. It reminded her of Hozier. When she had to drive Connor to school, because he'd gotten his keys taken away for one thing or another, Connor would take the AUX cord before Zoe even got a chance to protest. But he would always play something they both liked. Hozier. 

A kid at school had once told her that Hozier was for witches and lesbians. She thought about that a lot when she was in the car with Connor. She was the lesbian, so he must've been the witch. 

The last song, _All These Years_ , was her favorite. 

_I want to go back to the way it was before_  
_When we were young_  
_But I've been gone so long_  
_Would you know my face?_  
_If you heard my voice?_  
_What I have to say?_

_This_ was the song Connor wanted her to hear. She was convinced of that.

* * *

Zoe hated yelling at the kids. She really hated it. Whenever she yelled, all she heard was Connor, banging on her door, threatening to kill her. She _hated_ yelling. So then why did she do it? 

She'd been in a mood ever since she listened to that stupid CD that morning, and she'd been snapping at the kids left and right. They were having trouble with some of their exercises during basics and she _lost it_. 

“It's too far into the season to be pulling this crap!” Most of them jumped when she threw her gok block to the ground and began storming away from them. “I'll be in the pressbox when you're ready to start looking like a marching band!” 

She climbed the bleachers two at a time, bursting into the pressbox where a stunned Alana was jumping out of her seat, about to ask her fiancée what was wrong. But Zoe wouldn't let her get a word in. 

“You deal with them, maybe they'll listen to you!”

Alana stood there, silent and unmoving. She narrowed her eyes and stared at Zoe, but when Zoe's reddened face didn't dissolve, she carefully made her way to the door.

“I don't know what's gotten into you,” Alana said through her teeth, “But you either get a hold of yourself before we leave, or just go home.” And with that she was gone, descending the bleachers to join the kids. 

From the box, Zoe saw that most of them were turned around, murmuring to each other. 

She got on the microphone, “I didn't put you at ease!” and they snapped back to attention. 

Zoe didn't even bother with the chair, she just sank straight to the floor, leaning against the wall. God, what was wrong with her? She was losing it, and over what? A stupid CD, from her stupid brother? 

She'd yelled at them.

Oh god, _she'd yelled at them._

She was a monster wasn't she? She was a horrible person. She didn't want to turn into Connor. Not the mean, scary, drunk Connor that tried to hurt her. That _had_ hurt her, even if only emotionally. She didn't want anything to do with that Connor. She wanted the Connor that played Für Elise in ragtime like an asshat. The Connor that looked for four leaf clovers with her when they were little. The Connor who had been to the house and given her a CD because he thought she would like it.

* * *

Alana never came back up to the pressbox, instead directing the band from the field. 

Zoe had gotten a bit claustrophobic up there all by herself, and went inside early, beginning to eat her lunch alone in Alana's office. 

The kids were quiet when they came in. There was no chatter as they ate their lunches. No witty banter as the brass section polished their instruments. The quiet made Zoe hate herself even more. She must have really scared them if they were this quiet. 

Alana came in, sitting across from Zoe and unpacked her lunch but she did not speak. Zoe would talk when she was ready, and Alana wasn't going to push it. Finally, Zoe got sick of the quiet.

“I think Connor's back”

Her voice was hardly above a whisper, but Alana heard her loud and clear. 

“He must've come by yesterday while I was at work. He left me this CD and…” Her heart began pounding in her ears, and she felt as if she might cry again, “I haven't told mom and dad yet. I don't… I don't even have a way to talk to him or anything there was no return address.”

Zoe didn't even know if she was making any sense. She felt like she was just blubbering and all that was coming out was heart wrenching sobs. Her face was buried in her hands, but she felt Alana come over and wrap her arms around her, rubbing her back in slow, soothing circles.

“Shh, it's okay,” she whispered into Zoe's ear, “Just let it all out, it's okay.” 

It felt like hours before Zoe was finally done crying. She could barely make out Alana's face through the screen of tears that still shielded her eyes. 

“I'm gonna go get you some water, okay?” Alana kissed the top of her head and, when Zoe nodded, she stepped out into the hallway.

Zoe sat there, in the uncomfortable plastic chair, feeling sort of...numb.

“Miss Murphy?” A meek voice came from the doorway.

Zoe scrambled to wipe the tears from her face, trying to compose herself as Spencer stepped into the office.

“You left these out there” he said, handing her her gok block and drumstick. Zoe gave a small, tired smile, taking them from him. 

“Thank you”

But Spencer didn't leave. He stood there awkwardly, waiting for something, anything to happen.

“So,” Zoe cleared her throat, trying to make her voice sound less raw, “Who was that boy you were talking to last night?”

“Oh,” Spencer blushed, “His name's GJ, he plays sousaphone. He's Hackett’s cousin, actually.” 

“He seemed like he really liked you” her smile got wider. She wanted her kids to be happy, especially her Drum Major.

“Oh, I don't think so,” Spencer groaned, “I mean, he's _cute_ , but _I_ look like if Johnny Knoxville was a Crackerjack prize.” 

Zoe couldn't help but laugh. What did that even _mean_? She raised an eyebrow, “How can you be sure he doesn't like you?”

“Well…” He looked frustrated, as if he was wracking his brain searching for an example of why he was unlovable garbage and coming up empty, “I mean he _did_ give me his Snapchat”

“Hey! That's something!” Zoe gave him a pat on the shoulder, and he slipped out when Alana returned with a cold bottle of water.

The way Zoe gulped it down, you'd think she hadn't drank in a year. But the past few hours had been so draining and she just wanted to sleep for a thousand years. 

“Maybe you should go home and get some rest.” Alana suggested.

Zoe shook her head, “No, no I'm fine. I can't go back there, not now. Not yet.” Not with the CD there, not with her parents there, not with knowing Connor had been there. Being there would only make her feel worse. And she needed to be there for the kids. She needed to apologize and cheer them on and watch them win. She needed to see them happy. 

Zoe slept at Alana's that night. She couldn't wait until they were married, and she could wake up next to her every morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to be up in four hours for school but I needed to finish this. Zoe's a little conflicted about the whole situation, I didn't want her to just be cool with her brother just showing up after 10 years.


	5. There's A Bigger Story Here, Isn't There?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan reads a poem and goes on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for sexual assault in this chapter. It's not explicitly mentioned, you might not even pick up on it at all, but the poem in this chapter is about sexual assault so I'm adding a trigger warning just in case.

Since Sunday, Evan had done some more research on Edgar Duchannes. Well, research was a bit of a strong word, the guy only had an Instagram and a YouTube channel. Even calling it a channel was generous, it was just the audios of the songs on his album. Evan did find out, however, that Edgar was a painter, and a fantastic one at that. He'd noticed that a lot of his earlier paintings were of the same pale guy, with short, almost black hair. His face was never visible, but there was one particular painting of the man, nude in a bed of wild flowers. The gay part of Evan's heart had honestly never wanted a painting more in it's life. 

Evan wondered if the man _was_ Edgar, if they were self portraits or something. 

In his Instagram stalking, Evan also found out about Edgar Duchannes’ book, _Maybe I Should Switch to Heroin_. Evan had never been happier that he worked in a library. 

His shift ended at five in the evening on Friday, and he decided to do a bit of reading before he went home. They only had one copy of _Maybe I Should Switch to Heroin_. Evan was a little bit surprised they even had that. 

Sitting hunched over a table to read hurt his back, he preferred the beanbags in the children's section thank you very much. He nestled in, flipping through the pages, devouring them as if they were his last meal on death row. 

He loved them… but they made him sad. So far, Evan thought the poem “ _Green Velvet Cupcakes_ ” was his favorite.

_The unholy christening of green felt_  
 _That felt like velvet beneath my fingernails_   
_And your touch that felt like coming home_   
_To a house that was on fire_   
_And oh baby did we burn_   
_Memories of that night_   
_And you my knight in shining armor_   
_Are tainted by the sweetness_   
_Of frosting on cupcakes_   
_And your name_   
_Dripping like poison from my lips_   
_And I,_   
_The sickeningly sweet poisoned apple of your eye_   
_In jeans too tight_   
_And knowing I would lose you_   
_I marked you and made you mine_   
_But you scarred me and made me nothing_   
_Yet I still want your arms around me_   
_Whispering sweet nothings as you tear me apart again_   
_And wreck me the way you always did_   
_The way I always wanted_   
_The way you never asked if you could_

 

Holy shit, Evan thought after reading it, who hurt this poor guy? He felt almost guilty for liking it, because he was pretty sure it was about- he really hoped it wasn’t, but- he couldn't even bring himself to think it-

“Wow, you _really_ like that Duchannes guy.”

Evan's head jerked up to meet the gaze of the commenter. Purple hair. Scar. Connor. He doesn't see this guy for ten years then all of a sudden he sees him twice in a week? What were the odds? He held a few books in his hand. Of course he did. Why else would he be at a library if he wasn't getting books?

“I work here!” Evan blurted out, which would've been fine, had Connor asked if he worked there, or what he was doing there. Except Connor hadn't asked that. In fact, Connor hadn't asked anything at all, and now Evan was mentally kicking himself for acting like an idiot.

Connor nodded slowly, “O-kay…”

“I- I mean,” Evan stammered out, “That's why I'm here. I work here. I mean not, like, now. I'm not working right now, I got off a few minutes ago. But, like, I work here.”

What was wrong with him? He sounded like some kind of alien. God, he just couldn't pass up an opportunity to make a complete _fool_ out of himself, could he? He might as well be tarred and feathered and doing the can-can. 

“That's cool” Connor gave the smallest smile. Evan was… not expecting that. Laughter? Yes. Disgust and ridicule? Absolutely. But a smile? Where the hell did that come from? 

Evan realized he probably looked ridiculous sitting in a beanbag chair meant for children, so he stood up, closing the book. Then he remembered what his mom had said on Sunday. 

_“Was he cute? Did you get his number?”_

Yes, Connor was cute. Maybe he should get his number. But what if Connor was straight? Granted, Evan was pretty sure anyone dressed like _that_ wasn't straight, but he didn't want to assume anything. But, even if Connor did like guys, he probably didn't like Evan. Evan was a jittery, anxious mess that hadn't updated his wardrobe since high school. And his palms were sweaty. And he'd _slept_ with Connor's _sister_. And even if Connor didn't know about that, and come to think of it, Zoe _did_ turn out to be a lesbian, Evan was still pretty sure there was some kind of rule against doing that. 

“Do you wanna go out?” 

What? Why did he say it like that? That was so abrupt and unprompted and creepy. He tried to backtrack.

“I- I mean,” he wiped his sweaty palms off on his khakis, “Do you, maybe wanna, get dinner, sometime. With me?”

Oh no. He was going to say no. Evan was going to get rejected in front of all of his coworkers. He'd never be able to show his face here again. And then he'd have to go home and tell Heidi, “Hey, mom, remember that cute guy? Well I asked him out and made a complete fool of myself and now I'm the laughing stock of the library so we need to move.” 

Connor smiled, even laughed a bit, the way that made his nose scrunch up. “Yeah, sure” 

Wait. What? Was that a _yes_?

“I’m free tomorrow night” Connor offered, “I could give you my address and you could pick me up. Or I could meet you there, whatever's easier.” 

“I can pick you up!” Evan didn't want to seem rude, making Connor meet him at- Shit. Where was he going to take him? He had an Applebee's gift card, but Applebee's didn't seem like a first date kind of place. Fuck. He'd have to figure it out later. “Here, I'll give you my number and you can text me the address.”

Connor unlocked his phone and handed it to Evan, allowing him to input his contact information. 

“Cool,” Evan handed the phone back, “I’ll pick you up at 7?”

“It's a date”

Evan barely slept that night. How could he when he was about to go on a date with Connor Murphy? His mind was racing. What would they even talk about? As far as Evan knew, they had nothing in common. They hardly even knew each other. Should he ask about Connor's little disappearing act? Evan would be lying if he said he wasn't curious. Where had he gone, what did he do? Why did he leave in the first place? There was one particular question that had been on Evan's mind for years, but he didn't know if Connor even remembered.

* * *

“Applebee's?” Connor raised an eyebrow, turning to face his date for the evening. 

“Is this okay? We can go somewhere else…” Evan looked down at his lap, twiddling his thumbs. He had kept the khakis but traded his polo for a black button-down that was a little too big for him and looked like it hadn't been ironed since 1980. It could use a few passes from a lint roller too, but he was trying his best, and Connor gave him points for that. 

“No, no this is fine” Connor placed a hand over Evan's and smiled. Evan came around and opened the car door for him, like the gentleman his mom raised him to be. Connor interlaced their fingers as they walked from the car to the restaurant, Evan fumbling with the keys trying to lock the door and simultaneously freaking out because Connor was _holding his hand._

Connor ordered the chicken tenders, and Evan thought he might be in love. Also, slightly disgusted by the fact that Connor drank honey mustard like it was water. Though, to some extent, he did admire that this man was confident (or just didn't care) enough to be absolute trash on the first date. 

“I call it the chicken tender test,” Connor proudly explained, stuffing a few fries into his mouth, “The first time I go to a restaurant, I order the chicken tenders, because they're the one food that's always good. If a restaurant’s chicken tenders are bad, the rest of their food’s gonna be bad too, so I know never to go back there again,” he paused to take a sip of his drink, “And if the chicken tenders are good, I get them every time I go there because I know I like them, that way I don't have to risk getting something I don't like.”

Evan couldn't stop smiling all through dinner, Connor could probably see the little pink hearts swirling around his head. But of course, in typical Evan fashion, he ruined it.

“Can I ask you something?”

They were waiting for the check now. Connor nodded.

“When I broke my arm, senior year you...you signed my cast and I, I was just wondering why you, why you did that?”

The color drained from Connor's already pale face. Fuck. He'd fucked up. He was on the first good date of his life with a guy he really liked, and he'd fucked it up.

“You're gonna laugh” Connor groaned, shaking his head. Evan reached across the table for his hand. 

“I won't, I promise.”

“I wanted to be your friend.” Connor looked at Evan like they were swapping secrets at a middle school sleepover. “Then I read your letter and freaked out and… that was the end of that.” 

Right. The letter. _That_ was embarrassing. 

“That's… I mean, it was about your sister, I would've freaked out too.” Evan tried to laugh, but sounded more like a choking frog.

“How'd that go, anyway? You and her? Did that ever, y’know, _happen_?”

Oh god, here it goes.

“Kind of.” Evan admitted. Connor raised an eyebrow, as if the gesture alone would draw out more information. “We were kind of together for a little bit but then we ended it, and then she came out and started dating Alana Beck and I haven't really seen her since.”

Connor’s voice was hushed, “Evan, did…” a smile began creeping its way across his face, “did you turn my sister into a lesbian?”

“Oh my god,” Evan groaned burying his face in his hands, “shut _up_ ”

Connor couldn't stop laughing. Not until his sides hurt and tears poured from his eyes and the waiter brought the check. Well, Evan thought, at least he wasn't laughing because he paid for their meal with a gift card. 

The drive back to Connor's apartment was nice. Quiet. But nice. The radio played softly, and Evan blushed anytime Connor so much as glanced at him. The sun had gone down, and Connor's face was illuminated only by his porch light when Evan walked him to the door.

He lingered for a moment, not wanting to leave just yet, but knowing he couldn't stay. Did Connor's eye always have that little sliver of brown in it?

“Evan?” When had they gotten so close to each other? 

“Yeah?” He could feel Connor's breath tickling his nose.

“Can I kiss you?” 

Evan, too stunned for words, nodded his head. It was as if the world was in slow motion as Connor leaned in, his soft lips pressing against Evan's. He couldn't begin to describe the feeling if he tried. Evan had never actually kissed a man until now, but it was worth the wait. The moment lasted forever, but was over too soon. Connor pulled away, his cheeks dusted pink.   
Evan reached up, tucking a lock of purple hair behind Connor's ear, before gently tugging him closer to kiss him again. Connor reciprocated eagerly, cupping Evan's face in his hands. 

When Connor pulled away the second time, it was to whisper through his out of breath panting. “Do you wanna come inside?”

* * *

Evan woke up to the sun shining in his eyes. Weird, he always closed his curtains specifically so this wouldn't happen. His eyelids fluttered open to find the blinds drawn up. Blinds? Connor's blinds. And Connor's bed...Connor's still sleeping frame next to him. 

Evan sat up on the edge of the mattress, scanning the floor for his pants. He'd just barely gotten them over his ankles when Connor stirred.

“Where’re you going?” He asked groggily, leaning up on his arm.

Work? No, no it was Sunday, he didn't have work. “Bathroom.”

“Liar”

Evan sighed, pants still around his ankles. “I figured you'd want me to be gone when you woke up.”

“Why would I want you to leave?” Connor sounded...hurt. Evan breathed in, then out, then in again. In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four. Then, he let his pants fall to the floor again, and he slipped back under the covers.

Connor wrapped his arms around him, pecking him on the cheek. “You're a human furnace,” he hummed, resting his head on the other man's chest, “I’ll make us breakfast in a little bit, I need a few more minutes of shut eye”

Evan mindlessly twirled Connor's hair, combing his fingers through it. How was it so soft? 

“Don't you think we're… I dunno, going a little fast?” 

Connor shifted, but his eyes remained closed. “Yeah. Is that bad?”

“I don't know”

* * *

After a breakfast of homemade pancakes and a promise to text him later, Evan left. It was still Target day, and his mom would probably be worried sick when she woke up to find he never came home last night. 

Evan was glad that Heidi didn't make a big deal of him walking through the door in the same clothes he'd worn the night before. She just smiled knowingly. “The boy from Target?” 

Evan nodded, beginning to climb the stairs so he could go to his room and change, “The boy from Target."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there is a bigger story here. I'm planning a prequel for when this is finished that will delve further into it. Sorry it took so long to get this chapter up, between writers block, school, and marching band I've just had no time to do anything but I promise I won't abandon this fic! Just a warning though, some shit's gonna go down in the next chapter.


	6. I Should've Known

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe makes a discovery.

Zoe had been lounging on the couch with Alana’s cat, Proctor, when her fiancée surprised her with a neatly wrapped package. It was small and thin and rectangular, covered in balloon wrapping paper with a silver bow stuck on top.  
“My birthday isn't ‘till Saturday,” Zoe raised an eyebrow. Of course, Alana already knew that. She had a small smile on her face as she sat down next to Zoe on the couch. 

It wasn't often they spent so much time together outside of work during band season. With the both of them teaching classes at different schools during the day, having practice Tuesday and Thursday nights, plus the Friday football games and Saturday competitions, they barely had any time for just themselves. But, despite it being a Monday, they'd somehow both found the energy to spend time in the presence of another human being. 

“I know,” Alana pushed the package into Zoe's hands, “It came in this morning and I just couldn't wait. I wanna see the look on your face and, since Saturday’s the Home Show, we won't really have time for presents then.”

Unfortunately, Alana was right. If normal competitions were an all day affair, home shows were that squared- no, wait, to the fifth power, at least. They'd tried to schedule around her birthday that year, but they just couldn't make it work, not that Zoe really minded, she wasn't exactly thrilled about celebrating the fact that she was getting old. 

Zoe carefully peeled the bow from the wrapping paper and placed it on top of Proctor’s head. He showed no visible reaction, he just sat there and took the treatment. Zoe was the kind of person that tried to unwrap presents neatly and carefully when she could, but Alana didn't slack on the tape, and eventually Zoe just used her fingernails to tear the paper right down the center and peel it away. She crumpled it into a ball that she tossed to the floor and Proctor went after it, batting it back and forth.

In her hands, Zoe held a brand new paperback copy of Maybe I Should Switch To Heroin by Edgar Duchannes. Right, she'd almost forgotten asking Alana for it. She ran her fingers over the monochrome carnation on the matte cover before flipping through it, stopping to close her eyes and press the open pages to her nose, inhaling the crisp, comforting scent of the paper.

“Thank you” she hummed, her eyelids fluttering open.

“You're welcome” Alana pecked Zoe on the lips, bringing her hand up to cup Zoe’s face, her thumb brushing over her pale cheek. The rest of the night was spent basking in the soft glow of the TV screen, and cuddling on the couch, Proctor in Alana’s lap, and Zoe thumbing through the pages of the book. 

If Edgar Duchannes was one thing, it was consistent. The word ‘consistent’ here meaning ‘sad about everything all the time’. Zoe was never particularly good at analyzing poems, uncovering the meanings behind them and the metaphors they were cloaked in, and these were no different. The only solid thing she could gather was that half of the poems were about a guy that Duchannes was clearly in some sort of twisted, toxic love with, and the rest were about a girl that...well, Zoe wasn’t entirely sure who the girl was. She eventually began to pick up on a few repeating elements that were key in deciphering which person the poem was about, but in a few poems the guy and the girl bled together forming some sort of narrative that didn’t really make sense. There was no way that Duchannes had made this up, it was too personal, too indecipherable to the common mind. He had lived this. 

_I thought there was shampoo in my eyes_  
_Then I opened them_  
_And it was blood_  
_Surely not her blood_  
_For that is on my hands_  
_Not your hands, My Sweet_  
_For I did not know you then_  
_I did not kill for you, My Sweet_  
_Though, in a way, I suppose I have_  
_Would you kill for me, My Sweet?_  
_Kill your darling?_  
_For me, My Sweet?_  
_Christen our sheets in crimson?_  
_Throw her severed ring to the floor, My Sweet?_  
_Leave her and run away?_  
_Run away with me, My Sweet._

_A Letter From The Ashes_ was the perfect example in Zoe’s mind. Duchannes’ toxic relationship with the guy and… Zoe couldn't tell if the girl was the already dead one, or the one Duchannes wanted the guy to kill. She was pretty sure the girl was the already dead one, the one Duchannes killed, metaphorically (hopefully), but he was playing the pronoun game here and she always had trouble with that.

* * *

Practice the next day was an interesting ordeal. After their usual posture exercises, Zoe put them at set, so they would pay attention and not talk. She weaved in and out of the basics block, her drumstick and gok block clutched loosely in her hands. Her voice was soft and sweet when she spoke, but she sounded so sorrowful and guilty that the entire band knew something was wrong.

“You guys didn’t have your best show on Saturday,” she began, her footsteps barely making a sound in the damp grass, “And I blame myself for that.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spencer trying his best not to break set, but opening his mouth as if to dispute her admission of guilt. “I was completely out of line Saturday morning. I was having problems in my personal life and I shouldn't have brought them into our space, but I did, and I’m sorry.”

Zoe looked around at the small sea of familiar faces, their arms shaking, presumably going numb. “You can go at ease, but don’t talk.”

The band shook out the pins and needles from their aching arms, and most of them went to pick their instruments up off the ground. “No, no, you don’t need your instruments yet.” Zoe shook her head, gesturing for them to put them back down. “I try my best to be a hundred percent honest with you guys, always, because I love you, and I care about you. So I’m going to be a hundred percent honest with you now. I’m dealing with some family stuff right now, nothing for you guys to worry about, but it’s been taking a bit of a toll on me. Now, I’m going to try my best to not have a repeat of Saturday, because that was entirely uncalled for, and in no way your guys’ fault. But, if I do turn into a raging bitch monster again-” she was interrupted by a fit of giggles, mostly from the freshman, “-Yeah, I said raging bitch monster, what of it?” Anyway, if it happens again, don’t be afraid to call my ass out. Come and tell me straight up, ‘Miss Murphy, you’re being an asshole’. Got it?”

There was a collective “Got it” from the band accompanied by the nodding of a few heads.

“Alright, pick up your instruments” Zoe struck the gok block, and they all snapped to attention, horns high in the air, shining in the fading sunlight. She held them there for a moment, and they stood, still as statues, quiet as mice, awaiting instruction. Her drumstick was positioned ready to strike the gok block, to give them a steady tempo at which to march. But it never came.

“Go get water.” She gestured to the bences with the drumstick. 

No one moved. 

“Guys, I’m serious, go get water.”

A few of the kids turned around, gawking at her as if she had three heads. 

Hackett took a step forward, then stopped, scrunching up his eyebrows. “Is this a test?” he asked.

“No it’s not a- oh my god, _get water_... Unless you actually _wanna_ do basics-”

And they all took off like bats out of hell. 

What better way to apologize to a bunch of teenagers than telling them they didn’t have to do the thing they didn’t want to do.

The general tone of the rehearsal was lighter than it had ever been. It wasn’t too chatty, but there wasn’t a hostile silence either. The forms hit the way they were supposed to, and the music was crisp and clear, their articulation and dynamics on point the entire time.

* * *

Teaching middle school was really starting to take its toll on Zoe’s mental health. They were going to drive her to drink one of these days. It wasn’t as bad as Friday had been, but it was still complete chaos. Twelve year olds were the worst human beings on the planet, if you could even call them that. 

She had to stop letting kids eat lunch in her room because one particular student thought food fights were a wonderful idea. She hated that. There were a few kids that came to her room to eat lunch because they didn’t have friends to sit with in the cafeteria, because they were awkward and anxious and didn’t feel comfortable anywhere but the band room, and now she had to cast them out, all because of one asshole kid. As much as she genuinely hated some of her students, she hated feeling like she’d abandoned them even more. Zoe knew what it felt like to be abandoned by someone she cared about, and she hated to be the one to put them through that at such a fragile point in their young lives.

She found comfort in a glass of wine with her mom, before she left for yoga. Then, it was just her in a big, empty house. She really needed to move out. She was going to be twenty-seven on Saturday, she was _engaged_ for god’s sake, what the hell was she doing still living with her parents?

She knew. Somewhere, deep down, she knew. 

Maybe it was the wine, at least, she told herself it was the wine, that made her open the door. The door to the bedroom at the end of the hall, the one with no lock on the inside. She didn’t know what she expected. Maybe she thought it would be empty, that her parents had packed everything away when she wasn’t looking, or maybe she thought it would be covered in a layer of dust an inch thick, and that everything would be faded and falling apart. But it wasn’t. And that was almost worse. 

Stepping into that room was like going back in time. She could feel her chest tighten. She didn’t know why, but she was mad. She was pissed off. The entire room was kept like a museum, the guitar picks and clothes still strewn about the floor where he’d left them, preserved as if they were frozen in time. The glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, that had been peeling off the last time Zoe was in here, oh so many years ago, were now stuck like glue, readhered in the exact same spot they were originally. It was her mom’s doing. Her dad wanted nothing more than to turn this room into an office, or a home gym or something like that, but her mother wouldn’t have it. She insisted on keeping it just the way it was, and Zoe just never understood why. It was like, even still, Cynthia expected her son to walk back through that door any day now. 

Only one thing had changed, Zoe noticed. The bed was made. Connor never made his bed.

“No point,” he’d always argued, “I’m only gonna sleep in it and mess it up again in a few hours.”

Funny, Zoe remembered him saying that so clearly, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t hear it in his voice. _She couldn’t remember what his voice sounded like._

The sheets didn’t have a single wrinkle in them now, and Zoe knew why. One night, a few months after he’s left, Cynthia had a bit too much to drink, and tried to sleep in there, to feel closer to him or something. Zoe guessed she understood that. But Cynthia just tossed and turned all night, and in the morning, she made the bed. And that’s how it stayed.

Until now, that is.

Zoe didn’t bother closing the door behind her. She felt like if she closed it, she would never be able to leave, and she didn't intend on staying here long. She sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling the soft duvet beneath her fingertips. How was it still so soft after so long? She picked a small, leatherbound book up from the nightstand and began flipping through it, expecting it to be a diary or something. But it wasn’t. It was a sketchbook. The pages inside were yellowing with age, but the drawings inside were still vibrant and beautiful. There were trees, and galaxies, portraits of people that she knew and didn’t know. Each page was signed in the bottom right-hand corner in his sloppy cursive, and dated, most of them from the year leading up to him leaving. She didn’t even know Connor could draw, she’d never seen any of his drawings before, and yet something about them seemed so familiar.

Why had he left it? These were so well done, and they must have meant a lot to him. There were still some blank pages, room for more artwork. Why didn’t he take it with him? 

Unless he wanted someone to find it. 

Zoe was brought back from the verge of tears when her phone went off in her pocket, and she was snapped out of her daze. She pulled her phone out, thinking it to be a text from Alana, but it wasn’t. It was a YouTube notification, for Edgar Duchannes’ channel. She’s forgotten she even subscribed to that, sometime after listening to the CD, which now resided in her car radio. She typed in her password and clicked on the banner, bringing her to the video. She read the title while the (unskippable) ad was playing. _All These Years: Live_. Simple and to the point, like the rest of his social media. 

Then Zoe’s heart stopped. The man, perched atop a stool strumming a guitar. His _hands_. She knew those hands. The chipped black nail polish. The hands that played Für Elise in ragtime like an asshat. He may have changed his hair, his clothes, his everything, but his hands stayed the same.

_I wonder if you've stayed the same_  
_I'd know you anywhere_  
_But have you changed?_  
_And all the words I have to say_  
_Are they falling on deaf ears_  
_After all these years?_

The lyrics echoed in the back of her mind long after the video had ended. They had a whole new meaning now. The song wasn’t just the song Connor wanted her to hear, it was the one he had _written_ to her. _For_ her. 

The tears poured now. She couldn’t hold them back any longer. Everything started flashing before her eyes all at once. The painting from the coffee shop, the girl at the piano with the blue streak in her hair. It was _her_. The song, most of the songs on the album even, were about _her_. The poems… no, she couldn’t be the girl in the poems too, could she?

She bolted out of the room, not bothering to close the door as she exited, and scrambled to find the book. Upon getting her hands on it, she flipped through it frantically, searching for some confirmation that she wasn’t the girl, any proof at all that Connor didn’t really miss her. She didn’t want Connor to miss her. She thought Connor hated her, and she thought she hated him too, and she thought that Connor couldn't possibly care about her at all, because he wouldn’t have left if he did. But now that image of him was shattered. _This_ was who her brother was, who he _truly_ was, on the very last page.

_Dear Sister,_  
_How do I begin?_  
_I miss you more than words can say,_  
_Though I know you don't miss me._  
_You_ shouldn't _miss me._  
_I don't remember what your voice sounds like,_  
_And I've forgotten your face,_  
_But I'd know you if I saw you._  
_Would you know me?_  
_You never knew me._  
_You knew only slamming doors and the eternal winter._  
_And I never knew you._  
_I knew only the indigo streaks in your hair,_  
_And the words we threw carelessly like daggers._  
_Dear Sister,_  
_Can you ever forgive me?_

Zoe closed the book, clutching it to her chest as she curled up in her own bed, sobbing grossly into her knees. Heaving, heart wrenching sobs that wracked her entire body. She tried to call Alana, to tell her what was happening, but she couldn't. She was frozen in a state of distraught shock. 

She had no concept of time passing, she just cried and cried alone, until her mom returned from yoga, tackling the stairs as fast as she could to see what was wrong. Her dad returned from work not a minute later, he must've gotten off early, and followed his wife upstairs. 

Zoe didn't have words, she couldn't explain. It was too much.

She opened the book to the final poem and handed it to Cynthia, just barely able to choke out, “Connor wrote a book.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, the cat's out of the bag folks. I can't believe it's been a whole month since I posted the first chapter! There's only a few more chapters left of this story, but I have a (sort of) prequel, and a sequel lined up for when this part is over. I've grown so attached to this story and the characters over this past month, so much so that my heart was pounding while writing this chapter. Anyway, thank you all so much for the comments and kudos, I always look forward to hearing what you guys think of each update!


	7. A Surprising Lack of Trust Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared hasn't talked to Evan in years, and Evan has to have a talk with Connor.

Were they taking things way too fast? Absolutely. Evan wasn’t exactly complaining, after all, he’d always said he wanted to skip over the awkward early stages of a relationship and get right to being domestic. Since Sunday, they’d been texting nonstop, they talked on the phone every night, (which showed just how much he liked Connor because he hated talking on the phone), and the past couple of days Connor had started hanging around the library while Evan was working. 

“Do you not have a job or something?” Evan asked him on Tuesday evening, while Connor walked him to his car, “It’s just that, like, you’re always here and, I mean not that I’m complaining or anything I just…”

“No, no you’re fine” Connor assured, squeezing Evan’s hand tighter, “I’m, uh… self-employed, I guess? I don’t know, I kinda just do whatever, and then when money gets tight I figure something out.”

Evan nodded, that was reasonable, he supposed, for a guy who he was pretty sure never went to college. 

Connor smiled and gave Evan a quick kiss on the cheek, letting go of his hand so he could get into his car. He stood in the parking lot, waving Evan off as he pulled out onto the highway.

Yeah, Evan thought, they were going too fast. They were barreling down a dead end street at a hundred miles an hour and the breaks didn't work. And Evan loved it. 

Heidi...didn't. She was happy her son had finally found himself a man, but Evan got the feeling she was a bit...concerned. 

“I'm just worried about you,” she said at dinner, “I mean, I honestly thought it was just going to be a one night stand but now you two are practically married and it's only been two days”

“Three,” Evan corrected her, “Counting the date on Saturday. It's fine, mom, really. We're _fine_.”

Heidi sighed, dropping her head into her hands. “I just don't want you getting your heart broken, sweetie. Not again.”

“What do you mean, ‘again’?” Evan dropped his fork onto his plate. “If you're talking about Zoe, then you _drastically_ misread the situation” he insisted.

Okay, yeah, he was pretty bummed about breaking up with Zoe, but he was far from distraught, or crestfallen, or whatever. And Zoe was a lesbian anyway, so it wouldn't have made any difference.

“Okay, okay.” Heidi surrendered, “Just...be careful. And you know, if you ever need anything, and I mean _anything_ , I'm here.” Her sad smile was almost nonexistent, “Just because you're not a baby anymore, doesn't mean that you're not still _my_ baby.”

Evan rolled his eyes. She was always saying stuff like that.

* * *

Evan woke up earlier than intended. He didn't have to be in to work until 3:00, but for some reason he was up at 8:00. As per usual, the first thing he did was check his phone for notifications, or, in his case, lack thereof. He was surprised, however, to find several notifications from Jared Kleinman.

 _Jared?_

Jared hadn't talked to him in _years_. Must be a real emergency.

Evan unlocked his phone to read the message.

 _Yo, ur not gonna believe this_

Evan probably would believe it.

 _Remember that crazy kid Connor who disappeared?_

Oh boy did he. Jared had _no_ idea.

 _Well check this out_

There was a link attached. Evan clicked on it, bringing him to a YouTube video on… Edgar Duchannes’ channel? That's...weird.  
He clicked play and immediately recognized the first notes of _All These Years_. Wait. A live performance? That's… out of character for Edgar, and Edgar was not one to break character. And when the camera panned up to Edgar's face, Evan realized that that's all Edgar was: a character.

A character that his boyfriend played.

Wait, _were_ they boyfriends? He would have to talk to Connor about that. And _this_ too, apparently. 

He called Connor.

Connor picked up on the third ring. “Mornin’ sweets” he yawned.

“We need to talk” 

“Oh,” Connor's breath hitched, “Well that, uh… doesn't sound good”

“Not a _bad_ talk,” Evan was quick to clarify, “ just uh, a _talk_ , that's all”

“You wanna do this over the phone or…”

“Uh, can I come over, actually?” Evan tried his best to keep his voice from shaking.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” 

And Evan hung up with a promise to be there in half an hour.

* * *

Connor's apartment was kind of nice, Evan supposed. Small, but nice. It was just a shame that Connor hadn't really made the place seem lived in, the way a home should, as if he was ready to up and leave at the drop of a hat. There was a really nice couch in the living room, though. Big and beige and soft.

That's where Evan found Connor sprawled out when he got there. For some reason, Connor didn't feel the need to lock his door, _ever_ apparently, so Evan had just waltzed on in. 

Upon hearing him enter, Connor lifted his head a bit, beckoning Evan over. Evan greeted him with a quick kiss, only to have Connor pull him down onto the couch with him, so that he was resting on Connor's torso. Evan couldn't help but giggle a little at the gesture, but he quickly sobered up, remembering why he was there in the first place.

“So…” Evan's tongue felt strange in his mouth all of a sudden, like it didn't belong there, “You're, uh, you’re Edgar Duchannes, huh?”

Connor raised an eyebrow, “ _That's_ what this is about?” 

Evan nodded, trying to look Connor in the eye. Instead, his gaze settled on the part of his scar that crossed over his nose. Evan still hadn't asked how he'd gotten it. It would probably be rude to ask.

Connor ran a hand through his matted purple locks. “I… well, in all honesty, I thought you _knew_ ”

“What do you mean you thought-” Evan's eyebrows had never been more scrunched together than they were right now, “How could I have _known_?”

“I thought…” 

All of a sudden, Connor looked so...so sad. Distraught. Crestfallen. Whatever. 

“You thought what?” Evan ran the pad of his thumb over Connor's cheek.

“In the library, I thought you were reading my poems to, like, impress me, or something.” He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and sharply inhaled. “We had the same art class freshman year. You sat next to me… I thought, maybe, when you saw the paintings you recognized the style and…”

“I didn't” Evan admitted. He hung his head. He'd forgotten they'd been in art together. They never spoke to each other then, and Evan only took the class because it was a requirement… “I'm sorry”

“No. No, it's fine.” Connor pulled his hands from his face. “You didn't know. Now you do.” 

Evan nodded slowly, not speaking a word, before resting his head against Connor's chest. After a moment, Connor wrapped his arms around his waist, holding him tightly.

Then, Evan whispered so softly, he almost couldn't hear himself. 

“Are you my boyfriend?”

“Do you want me to be your boyfriend?” 

Connor felt Evan nod against his chest. “Yes”

Connor took Evan’s hand in his, lightly brushing his lips over Evan's knuckles. “Then I'm your boyfriend”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short and I'm sorry it took so long to post, I've been really busy with marching band and drama club but once band is iver in a couple weeks I'll have a lot more time to write.


	8. Actual Trust Issues This Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Zoe's birthday, and she's gotten more than she bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter up, it was very emotionally draining to write. However, I'm off from school all this week, so I should be able to get another chapter or two up by the end of it.

_Connor's room was cold. The heater was on, and Zoe was wearing a sweatshirt, but it was so_ cold _. She almost wanted to crawl under the covers to get warmer, but something told her that it was only colder under the sheets. So she stayed where she was, sitting criss-cross applesauce in the center of the bed,_ his _bed, reading a book._ His _book._

_Connor had two copies of_ The Catcher in the Rye _. One was old and battered, with golden brown pages and a plain red cover with the title in yellow. It was their mom's from when she was younger, she'd given it to him when he was home from school sick one day when he was twelve. Zoe never saw her mom as the kind of woman to like_ The Catcher in the Rye. _Not enough to keep it all those years at least._

_But that copy was gone. He took it with him when he left._

_Connor's other copy was from school. He had to read it sophomore year and he just... never gave it back._

 

He must've paid for it, _Zoe thought,_ They'd never let him just _keep_ it.

_It was hardcover, not paperback like their mom's, with the title printed in black over a block of white, bordered in goldenrod yellow. There were so many sticky notes inside of it that it couldn't close properly anymore. Hot pink, then he ran out, blue, then he ran out, green, then he ran out, orange, purple, yellow... The sloppy cursive words scrawled on them where his thoughts, his opinions, his feelings._

"gay"  
"compulsive lying"  
"I get depressed over stupid shit like that too"  
"mommy issues?"  
"gay"  
"more compulsive lying"

_They were all she had left._

_She didn't_ miss _Connor. She missed who he_ used _to be._

_A knock on the door startled her._

_"Zoe?" It was her father's voice that called out, "Is that you in there?"_

_There was an edge in his voice that made Zoe think he wasn't sure. As if he expected it to be,_ hoped _it was Connor._

_"Yeah!" she called out, just as Larry opened the door. His eyes darted around the room, taking it all in. He didn't want to be in there._

_"Have you, uh..." he looked at the ceiling, the floor, anything but her. Finally, he sighed. "What do you say we go for a mystery drive?"_

_There was a nostalgic gleam in his eye, and a sad smile on his face when he said that._ Mystery drive.

_When Zoe and Connor where kids, that was code for, 'let's get Italian ice and eat it at the lake to give your mom some quiet time'. Connor would get cherry and complain about the bits in it, but he'd still get it the next time._

_Zoe hadn't thought about that in a long time. It wasn't until now that she realized that one day they all had a mystery drive together for the last time, and didn't even know it._

_Sure enough, thirty minutes later, Zoe sat across from her father at an old picnic bench at the lake. She didn't get Italian ice much anymore, but when she did she usually got lemon. Not this time though. Mango ice with chocolate custard, just like when she was a kid._

_"Alright, I'll just ask," Larry wiped his mouth with a napkin, "Have you been taking my cigarettes?"_

_Zoe didn't look up from her gelati. She swirled the ice and custard together, taking a small bite here and there._

_"Zoe?" Larry raised an eyebrow, "You're not in trouble."_

_"Obviously" she rolled her eyes, gesturing to her dessert._

_"I just... I'd expect this from..."_

_Zoe couldn't tell if he was about to say 'Connor' or 'your brother'. To her mom, they were one and the same, interchangeable. But Larry knew better, they were two different people entirely._

* * *

Zoe had quit smoking years ago, when Alana asked her to. But, when she showed up Saturday morning to get ready for the home show, it was after stopping at Circle K for a pack of cigarettes. She wasn't allowed to smoke on school grounds, there were signs everywhere saying that, but she did anyway, right in her car, parked just outside the band room.

“Can I get one of those?” Spencer asked, half jokingly as he walked past her car to go into the band room. Zoe must've gone crazy, Spencer was a minor and they were on school grounds, she could get in so much trouble for this. God, she must've been out of her mind. She took a cigarette from the pack and stuck it out the window. Spencer, looking slightly surprised, took it, pulled a lighter from his pocket and, instead of going to the band room, he rounded the corner and hid in a little nook by the dumpster. 

Zoe hated herself just then.

* * *

Zoe had thought about that day with the italian ice a lot this week. She even dug out the copy of _Catcher_ , just to read his notes again. She'd been reading it while the kids were eating lunch before the other bands arrived. Alana had given her a look, but didn't say anything. 

She was at the piano now. Connor's piano. Spencer and the rest of the seniors were escorting bands, so there were fewer people in the band room than usual. They sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the piano, watching eagerly as Zoe played.   
They loved watching her play. 

She needed to think about the kids today. Not the fact that it was her birthday. Not the fact that she'd given Spencer a cigarette. Not the fact that Connor was Edgar Duchannes. Not the fact that her parents were going crazy calling every family member they had to see if they'd heard from Connor. 

None of them had. 

Her parents weren't even home for her birthday. They were upstate, staying with her Aunt Sally for the weekend. Zoe didn't understand why. Aunt Sally didn't know any more than they did. 

She'd started singing at some point. That transfixed the kids even more. When she started with _She's So High_ , Alana started giving her the eye from across the room. Not in a sexy way, more in a ‘I'm so in love with you way’. That warmed Zoe's heart in a way that felt so good after feeling so cold the past few weeks.

* * *

The warmth lasted until well into the evening. The bands were gone, and they were cleaning up. The Warriors had come and competed earlier in the day and went home right after awards, but GJ came back on his own to help out. Well, to see Spencer, but same difference. 

As a thank you, Zoe and Alana sent him home with some leftover food; a freezer bag full of pickles, a few packages of ramen noodles, and enough cookies to last a lifetime. 

The warmth didn't last much longer.

* * *

It was 10 pm when Zoe got home. It was 10:06 when a knock on the door startled her. It wasn't her parents, if they were back early, they wouldn't knock. She knew who it was.

But that didn't make it any less shocking.

He stood there on the porch, with his hair parted down the middle, framing his face, his skinny frame shrouded in a black peacoat. 

He didn't say anything, and Zoe didn't either. She just stepped aside, and let him in. 

There was a part of her that wanted to yell, to slam the door in his face, to hit him. But she didn't.

He stepped inside, with his hands in his pockets, and looked around the room. Not much had changed since he'd last been there. The TV was new and the piano was gone, but that was about it. 

It was a few minutes before he spoke. “Happy birthday”

“Don't you fucking dare” Zoe's voice came out a whisper. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her gaze was fixed to the floor. “You don't get to do that. You don't get to just waltz back in here and…”

She didn't want to cry. She wasn't going to cry in front of him. 

“I know” he nodded, “I'm not trying to.” He tucked a lock of purple hair behind his ear. Zoe had seen the scar on his face in the video, but it looked different in real life. In real life, it looked like it had _hurt_. “I'll leave, if you want me to”

Zoe shook her head. She wanted to throw him out, she really did, but something stopped her. She thought maybe it was his voice. Just a week ago she couldn't remember what it had sounded like, now she was hearing it from his own mouth. She wasn't going to just let that go.

It wasn't just his voice though. 

“If you leave, I'll never see you again.”

Connor started to tear up then. He knew she was right. If he walked out that door, he'd never be able to work up the courage to come back again.

Zoe sat down on the couch, and Connor followed, shrugging his his coat off and leaving it draped over the arm. He looked so foreign sitting on the blue sofa. For eighteen years he had called this house home, and now he looked so out of place. 

“I don't even know what to say,” Zoe shook her head, “I spent the past ten years dreaming about what I'd say to you if you came back, and I have no idea what to say.”

“I don't either.” Connor admitted. “In all honesty, I never planned on coming back.” He began picking the the nail polish on his thumb. 

“Then why did you?”

Connor sighed, but he didn't answer. Zoe watched as a somber shadow washed over his face, and tears glazed over his eyes. His breathing grew heavy, and Zoe was afraid he might have a panic attack. Suddenly, he shoved the heels of his palms into his eyes and hissed “Fuck” through his gritted teeth. 

At a loss of what to do, Zoe stood up. She debated whether or not to put a hand on his shoulder, to comfort him. In the end, she didn't. 

“I need a drink” she announced, “You want anything? she began making her way to the kitchen.

He waved her off, “No thanks, I don't drink anymore.”

Zoe's mouth formed a silent ‘oh’. “That's...that's good” she nodded, disappearing into the kitchen and returning a moment later with a glass of wine in one hand, and a glass of orange juice in the other. Connor was standing before the fireplace, holding a framed photo that had been on the mantle.

“Who's this?” He asked, turning the picture around so Zoe could see. It was a photo of a little girl in overalls, with her hair in pigtails, smiling wide to show her missing two front teeth. 

“That's my- _our_ cousin, Lily.” Zoe took a sip of her wine and Connor sat the photo back down on the mantle, but his touch lingered for a moment.

“She's Aunt Sally’s daughter?” 

“Yeah” Zoe nodded. “She's turning eight in a few months.”

Connor shook his head, and muttered under his breath something akin to “Jesus Christ” as he made his way back to the sofa.  
As Zoe sat down beside him, she handed him the orange juice, and was hit with a pang of...something, she didn't know. His feet were planted firmly on the floor, not up on the coffee table like he used to do, and when he placed the glass down on the table, he used a coaster. It was like he wasn't even Connor anymore.

“So…” Zoe took a sip of her wine, her voice shaking. What was she supposed to say?

Connor nodded, “So…”

“Your hair looks nice” Zoe laughed awkwardly. Connor nodded, but remained silent. Suddenly, she reached over and took the coaster out from under the glass, placing it back down on top of the rings from lack of coaster usage in years past. “Put your feet up.”

Connor raised an eyebrow, giving her a sideways glance.

“Put your feet up on the goddamn table!”

A bit unsure, Connor did what he was told. Zoe took a photo in her mind of this. Feet up, no coaster, like the good old days. 

_”What good old days?”_ came a whisper from the back of her mind. _”There were no good old days. You hated each other. He hated you, and you hated him. He hates you.”_

“I don't hate you” Zoe whispered, her bottom lip still touching the rim of her wine glass. She didn't even realize she'd said it.

“What was that?” 

Zoe set her glass down. “I said, I don't hate you.” 

Connor sighed. “You should”

“I know I should!” Zoe snapped, “But I _don't._ I wish I did, I really wish I could, but I _can't._ ” She was crying now, she hadn't even noticed, but she could feel the warm tears trailing down her face.

“Zoe, I'm so sorry.” Connor ran his hand through his hair, tugging it. He could feel the tears welling in his eyes. This was his fault. This is what his actions had caused. He should've never come back. He should never have left in the first goddamn place. He missed so much, and for what? He set off to have a better life, and his new life ended up being worse than the old one. And for what? 

“Zoe, I'm _so_ sorry.” He was crying now too. “And I _know_ that doesn't fix it. I _know_ that doesn't make it better, but I'm sorry. I wish I could make it better, I wish I could change it, but I _can't._ I _can't_ , Zoe, and I'm _so_ sorry.”

Then Zoe did something she never thought she would do, something she hadn't done since she was a little kid. She hugged him. She wrapped her arms around him, and they sat there, just sobbing for who knows how long. 

“I _missed_ you. I never thought I would but I did” she admitted. “I used to wish you were dead and then you disappeared and I- I- I never thought I would see you again.”

* * *

Eventually, the crying died down. Zoe, still sniffling, brought the empty glasses back to the kitchen, and set them in the sink. When she came back, Connor was on his feet, pulling his coat back on. 

“It's late, I should go.” He said, his voice raspy from all the crying. 

Zoe nodded. It was getting late, and she needed to go to bed and process all of this. 

“You'll come back, right?” She asked.

Connor nodded. “Whenever you want.”

“Monday?” Zoe crossed her arms over her chest. She was cold all of a sudden. “Mom and dad will be home. They'll wanna see you.”

“Yeah, I'm sure Larry wants to see me” Connor scoffed, rolling his eyes. Then, he sighed. “Yeah. Yeah I'll be there.”

“We still have dinner at 7:00, if you want to come then.” Zoe laughed a bit, “Mom doesn't make that gross vegan shit anymore.”

Connor smiled, “Good to hear. I'll be there.”

And with that, he stepped out the door and disappeared into the night.


	9. What Am I Supposed To Do With This?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor looks way too gay for a family reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, two chapters in one week, I'm on a roll! I think this is the longest chapter yet.

Connor was head over heels for Evan. They'd been together a week, and already Connor could marry him. That probably wasn't a good thing. What _was_ a good thing was Evan getting an extra day off from work, and spending it with him before his impending doom- er- dinner with his parents. They were sprawled out on the couch, Connor on his back with Evan on top of him.

“Your hair’s so soft” Evan murmured into the crook of Connor's neck while running his fingers through his purple curls. 

“Mmm, I sure hope so,” Connor hummed, “My conditioner costs forty bucks a bottle.” 

Evan ceased twirling Connor's hair around his fingers, and began running his thumb over Connor's jaw. He pressed his lips just below Connor's ear. “Are you nervous?”

“About tonight?” Connor raised his eyebrows, and tightened his grip around Evan's waist. “Yeah. I mean, seeing Zoe again was an emotional roller coaster. Tonight's gonna be a… I don't know, an emotional plane crash.”

Evan leaned up to kiss Connor on the lips, then snuggled into his chest. “They're gonna be happy to see you.” From the way his head was turned, he couldn't see Connor roll his eyes, but he could feel it in every fiber of his being. “They've missed you, Connor.”

“Yeah, yeah. I'm sure Larry’s gonna be _thrilled_ to see me.” 

Evan shifted so that he was laying on his side, tucked between Connor's body and the back of the couch, running his fingers over Connor's chest. “Remember how I used to date your sister?”

“ _Before_ you turned her into a lesbian, you mean?” Connor laughed, and Evan gave him a playful slap on the arm. 

“Yeah. Before that.” His smile faded. That was such a long time ago. It almost felt like a different lifetime ago. More had changed in the past month than had changed in the years since then. “I used to be over a lot… Your mom was still kind of a mess the last time I saw her. She practically turned your bedroom into a memorial.” It almost hurt to think about. “And your dad kind of buried himself in his work.”

Connor believed that. He believed Larry would've thrown himself into working overtime. But he didn't believe it was because he missed him. No, Larry just didn't want to deal with an overly emotional wife. Typical.

* * *

Connor's heart pounded in his chest. He could hear his heartbeat ringing in his ears. He stood on the porch of his parents’ house- Zoe's house- his old house- whatever. Why was Zoe even still living with them when she was clearly engaged? Unless she wasn't engaged and the ring was just for ‘fashion’ or whatever, but Connor was ninety-nine percent sure that a ring that nice wasn't just for fashion. He should've asked her. Then again, on Saturday they'd been kind of busy bawling their eyes out.

He couldn't breath. The collar of his shirt felt tight all of a sudden. Was his collar too tight? It was definitely too tight, only it hadn't felt that way when he left his apartment. No the collar was fine, it was the scarf that was too tight. Yeah, definitely the scarf. Never mind the fact that it was an infinity scarf that was really thin and hung way too low to even come close to choking him. Did he look too gay? Was this too gay for dinner with your parents who you haven't seen or spoken to in ten years? How does one even dress for such an occasion? He shouldn't have worn the white jeans, he should've worn the slacks like Evan told him to. God, why was Evan always right? He didn't have time to go home and change now, he had already rang the damn doorbell for Christ’s sake. He should've just worn the slacks in the first place like Evan said-

The door opened.

Connor inhaled sharply, preparing for the worst, then let out a sigh of relief when it was only Zoe. He smiled, as best he could under the stress of the current situation. She smiled back, and stepped aside to let him in. As he walked aside his sister, through the house that was so familiar, yet so foreign, he shoved a hand in his pocket, keeping his fingers firmly planted on his phone. He found solace in knowing that if this went to shit, and with his track record it probably would, Evan was only a text away. 

“Mom. Dad.” Zoe cleared her throat as they stood in the doorway of the dining room. Connor stood slightly behind Zoe, prepared to use her as a human shield if necessary. At the head of the table, Larry sat in his usual seat, reading the newspaper. At the other end, Cynthia stood, setting the last place at the table.

They looked up simultaneously.

The plate cynthia had been holding clattered to the table, thankfully not breaking. Larry looked dumbfounded for a moment, before promptly standing up, announcing “I need a drink,” and pushing past his children to get to the kitchen.

Connor leaned over to whisper in Zoe's ear. “You didn't tell them I was coming?”

Zoe shrugged, trying and failing to look innocent, “I wanted to surprise them”

“Connor?” Cynthia's whisper of disbelief was muffled by her hand covering her mouth, as she slowly, carefully approached. 

Connor blinked. That's it. That's all he could do. He was rooted to the floor. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak, he couldn't whip out his phone to tell Evan “be there in five, be ready to hold me”. Even as Cynthia wrapped her arms around him, he was frozen. 

What finally snapped him out of it was when she asked, tears pouring down her face, “Are you real?” 

It felt like being stabbed in the gut with an icicle. That was an oddly specific comparison, but that's what it felt like. That's the moment Connor felt himself crying too. He threw his arms around her, clinging to her the way he did his very first day of school. He was five years old with a Ninja Turtles backpack, and he'd never been away from his mom for more than a couple hours before, and he didn't know any of those kids, and he clung to his mother's pant leg, crying and making a scene, and begging her not to make him go.

“I'm real, mom.” He choked out, rapidly becoming a heart wrenched mess, “I'm real”

Finally, after what seemed like ages, Cynthia took a step back, taking Connor's face in her hands. “What happened to your face? Connor, did someone hurt you?” 

Oh. Right. Connor kept forgetting about that scar. 

“No, mom, I'm fine,” he pulled one of her hands from his cheek, but left the other in place. “It’s nothing. It happened years ago.”

Cynthia used her free hand to tousle his hair a bit. “You never did get that haircut.” A sad smile adorned her face. 

“I did!” Connor defended himself, “It just grew back! That's the thing about haircuts, mom. If you want to keep it short, you have to keep getting it cut, and I just couldn't be bothered to maintain it.”

Cynthia chuckled a bit. It was like music to Connor's ears. He had missed her. He never realized how much before this very moment, but he'd missed her.

* * *

Dinners with his family used to be tense. Tense, because Larry had just gotten off work and was tired and grumpy and blamed all the world's problems on Connor, Connor was angry and high, Zoe was angry at Connor. Basically everyone was mad at Connor including Connor. But this dinner was different. It wasn't tense, it was just… awkward.

“This is really good, mom.” Connor complimented, taking another bite of shepherds pie. 

“I'm glad you like it, dear.” She smiled, “If only Zoe had told me you were coming. I could've made Nana’s lasagna, I know that's your favorite.” 

He'd almost forgotten about Nana's lasagna. Truth be told, over the years his favorite meal had become those ramen noodles and rice fried in a skillet that Cam used to make. He'd tried to recreate it a few times since he'd been back, but he could never get it just right. It must've been the way she seasoned it or something. It just tasted _sadder_ somehow, now that they weren't eating it lounging on the couch together after a long day at work. And that was saying something, because it had tasted pretty sad before, because they were both sad and only had each other. This was not the time to be sad about missing her. This was time to spend with his family. His _blood_ family. 

“So, Zoe,” Connor said, just to snap him out of his own head. He used his fork to gesture to her hand. “Who's the lucky lady?”

A blush washed over his sister's face, accompanied by a smile that stretched ear to ear. “You remember Alana Beck? From high school?” 

Alana Beck? Didn't Evan say they got together before he left for college? Had they stayed together all that time? He wanted to ask, but he felt like he shouldn't. He didn't want to make things weird by saying he was dating her ex. Even though she probably wouldn't care because she's a lesbian anyway. He really needed to stop freaking out. Freaking out? Who was freaking out? He wasn't freaking out. 

“That's really great, Zoe!” He smiled back, “I'm serious, good for you. She treats you good?”

“Connor” Cynthia rolled her eyes.

“No, no, I gotta do the older brother thing.” He cleared his throat, put on an awful Bronx accent and screwed up his face, “She ever hurts you, you come to me, and I'll take care of it for ya.”

That made Zoe laugh. Connor never realized before how much her laugh could light up a room. Hell, even Larry, who had been silent so far, laughed a little bit.

“What about you, Connor?” She asked when her laughter died down, “Are you seeing anyone?” 

Now it was Connor's turn to blush. “Well, I mean,” he shrugged, “There _was_ this guy, Bryan. We were on and off for a while but… I think we've ended it for good this time.”

“Oh, honey-” Cynthia began.

“But! I started seeing this boy, Evan,” he scanned Zoe's face. No reaction. Good. She didn't make the connection. “And I don't wanna say it's getting serious, ‘cause it's only been, like, a week, but I have a really good feeling about him.”

Larry nodded. Better than nothing. 

Cynthia smiled, “That's great honey!”

“So uh… you don't care that I'm gay?” Wow. Connor never realized that he'd never properly came out to his parents. Surely they'd be fine with it, given that they were fine with Zoe and Alana, but you never really know with these things.

“Oh… honey…” Cynthia's smile looked almost embarrassed, and Larry's whole face had gone red. “Well… we kind of, _sort of_... already knew”

Connor nearly dropped his fork. “What do you mean you _knew_?”

“Well, you see, remember how your father used to… go through your computer?”

Connor's eyes went wide. Of course. His forehead hit the table with a groan and he couldn't help but laugh, just a little. “There was _so_ much gay porn on that computer.”

Zoe burst out laughing from across the table. “Holy shit! That's how they found me out too!” 

That made Connor laugh even harder, rocking back in his chair and clapping like a walrus. He kind of sounded like one too. “Larry found the lesbian porn!” 

It was a nice sibling bonding moment, dying over their dad finding their respective gay porn stashes, and all the while their parents sat there, looking increasingly uncomfortable. At least they were having fun.

* * *

After dinner, waiting for dessert to be served, Connor stepped out into the backyard for a cigarette. His mom had given him a mug of coffee, black, two sugars, the way he liked, in the Mets mug he always used to use… He honestly couldn't believe they still had it. He took a sip of coffee and set the mug down on this little table they had on the deck, and took a seat on one of the steps that went down into the yard.

Through the sliding glass door he could see his mom and Zoe laughing in the kitchen. A warm glow from the lights inside cast over the back of his head as he turned away to gaze into the inky blackness of the backyard. The pool was covered, given that it was October. Connor couldn't remember the last time he'd been swimming. It must've been that time Cam dragged him to the beach- god, seven years ago. He'd never really taken the time to think about Cam, _really_ think about her, since everything happened. 

From behind him, Connor could hear the door slide open, and someone stepped out onto the deck. He would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised when it was Larry that sat down next to him. Larry lit a cigarette and took a drag, looking like he was trying to think of what to say.

“I'm sorry, dad”

Connor's voice came out a whisper. Larry even looked a bit taken aback. He took a deep breath.

“To tell you the truth, Connor, I thought… if you ever did come back… it'd be asking for money, or with a baby in your arms or something.”

Of course. Of course that's what he thought. Of course Larry, his own damn father, thought that fucking low of him.   
“And now I'm back,” Connor said, sounding almost bitter, “Now what?”

“I'm sorry too, Connor.”

Connor almost dropped his cigarette. Larry Murphy, apologizing. Who’d a thunk? Connor wanted to snap something about how sorry didn't fix years of belittling and berating him. How sorry didn't fix the yelling and the fighting. But he didn't. 

He was sorry. 

It didn't matter whether sorry fixed it or not, because it never could, but that's not what mattered. What mattered was that he was _sorry_.

“Connor, you don't have kids, at least you haven't mentioned any, so I don't expect you to understand but...” Larry sighed, searching for the right words, “You know how you were born premature?”

Connor nodded.

“Well, I was scared.” Larry shook his head, “I was so scared. You were my first child, and you looked so tiny and perfect, and I was so scared that we were going to lose you. And I had to keep telling your mother ‘No, don't worry honey, he'll be okay’ even though I had no idea what was going to happen. Then, you were a trooper and pulled through and everything was okay. I've never seen your mother happier than the day we brought you home. You were the happiest baby we’d ever seen. You never cried… Then your sister was born and our family was complete, and the two of you got along so well, and everything was perfect…” 

Larry took a moment to breath, and take a puff from his cigarette. 

“Connor, when you left, I was right back in that hospital room with your mother, telling her everything was going to be okay even though I had no idea, and I was just as scared as she was. And I couldn't help but think ‘This is my fault. He asked for help and we didn't give it to him. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened, and it's all my fault.’”

Connor didn't come to hear this. He came to eat dinner, and spend time with his sister, and his mother, and maybe get yelled at by Larry. He didn't come for an apology, or an explanation, or a sob story. He didn't come to hear Larry admit that he was wrong. In all honesty, Connor didn't know what to do or think. This was so out of character for Larry. 

“It's not your fault.” Connor shook his head, mostly just so Larry would stop talking. “I was messed up. Still am, but…You did what you thought was right and it turned out not to be. I can't blame you for that… I left thinking I could make it better, and that you'd all be better off without me but… I guess I just made even more of a mess. So much happened while I was gone, with you guys and with me. Being back here kind of feels like, like I never left at all. Like that whole big chunk of my life never happened and I… I don't really know how to feel about that.”

“I'm sure we'd all love to hear of your adventures someday” Larry tried to smile, awkwardly patting him on the shoulder. Then Larry put his cigarette out and stood up. “I think dessert’s almost ready.”

“I'll be in in a few minutes, I'm gonna have another one.”

“Alright.” Larry turned to go back inside, stopping just before the door. “I love you, son.”

“I love you too, dad.”

Connor didn't really have much time to think about the exchange, about whether he meant any of it or not, on account of Zoe coming outside and plopping herself down next to him.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.

“I honestly don't know.” He lit another cigarette. “I kinda feel like the last ten years never happened, and I just…” he sighed, almost frustrated, “I don't want it to be like that. I don't want everything that happened to just not matter anymore because I'm back now. All the people I met, all the things I did, they're such a huge part of my life and, you have no idea about any of them.” 

Zoe shrugged, “So tell me about them.” 

“Would it surprise you if I said I was a hustler?”

“Like, a prostitute?” Connor nodded. “I mean, I guess not.”

“Not the whole time or anything. Just for a few weeks, in the beginning. I was living out of motels and ran out of money so…naturally. That's how I met Bryan, but that's a whole other can of worms-”

“Why?” Zoe interrupted. “Why is it a whole other can of worms? What happened?”

“It was just complicated. Complicated and toxic and just all around not good. And then I started drinking because I just hated him so much. Him and his twisted mind games. Was in rehab for a while, got my shit together…”

“That's good.”

Connor nodded. It was good. It sucked that he used to be an alcoholic, but at least he could say he _used_ to be an alcoholic. At least he wasn't an alcoholic _anymore_. 

“I worked in a bookstore for a while.” He added, making Zoe smile a little bit. “That's how I met my best friend, Cam. I lived with her for a while too. She was really nice, I think you would've liked her… I think I was in love with her. Not, like, in a romantic way or anything. In like, a platonic way. But, in a platonic way, I was definitely in love with her…” He could feel himself getting choked up, and he really didn't feel like crying right now, not after crying so much the other night. “Nevermind, I don't really wanna talk about it anymore.”

Zoe nodded. “Okay. That's okay.” She rested a comforting hand on his shoulder as he put out his cigarette. He took another sip of his coffee and sighed.

“Why are you so easy to talk to?” He asked. More to himself than to Zoe. “We haven't talked in what feels like a lifetime, and even before that we hated each other so why… why is it so easy to talk to you now?”

“I don't know.” Zoe admitted. “But I like talking to you. Speaking of which, let me give you my number.”

Connor handed her his phone, and she put her number in under “Zoe” with a music note and a four leaf clover emoji next to it. Later, back at his apartment, Connor would notice she put their parents’ numbers in too, under “Mom” and “Larry”. Connor would never admit it, but he changed “Larry” to “Dad”.

“Thanks, Zo.”

“No problem.”

“So, what do you do?” Connor asked, genuinely curious, “We've been so busy talking about me, what about you?”

Zoe laughed, “Well, I'm engaged to Alana, but you know that. I teach band at the middle school-”

“Gross” 

“Yeah.” Zoe cringed, having a flashback to the kid who drank valve oil. “And me and Alana are the band directors for the marching band. She teaches band at the high school.”

“That's actually, like, really cool.” Connor always knew Zoe was going to end up doing something cool. Something with music. But he always thought she'd be in a band or something. Oh, how the turn tables. 

“Yeah, the kids are great. We have State Championships this Saturday, actually. Then the Halloween parade next week. You should come.”

That, quite honestly, shocked Connor. She was already inviting him to stuff, _important_ stuff.

“You should bring- what's his name?- Evan, too.”

“I'll talk to him about it. But I'll definitely be there.”

“Cool” Zoe smiled. Connor really did love it when she smiled. “We should probably go inside, cheesecake awaits.”

* * *

The rest of the evening was pleasant, and when it was time for him to leave, his mom didn't cry. He expected her to, and she looked like she wanted to, but she didn't. He was glad for that, he didn't want her to cry anymore. He reassured Zoe that he would definitely be at States and the parade, and that he would definitely try to make Evan come too. He even hugged his dad, which was… okay. Connor honestly felt… kind of indifferent to it. But hey, if he was willing to try, then Connor was willing to try too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Introducing characters you won't actually meet until the next book? It's more likely than you think. 
> 
> I originally had a whole different scene between Larry and Connor written out, one that involved a lot more yelling, but I didn't have the heart to keep it. I needed things to be somewhat okay between them. Larry, just like everyone else, is a complex, three-dimensional character, and I didn't want to just demonize him.


End file.
